ORDEAL  BY 


The  Ordeal  by  Fire 

By 

A  Sergeant  in  the  French  Army 

i 

Marcel  Berger 


Translated  by 

Mrs.  Cecil   Curtis 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

Cbe    fmicfcerbocfter    press 

1917 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 


"Cbe  fmfcfcerbocfeer  pre«0,  "Hew 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

BOOK  I 
August  j,  1914 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.      JEANNINE   LANDRY          ....  3 

II.      A  YOUNG  MAN  OF    1914          .  .  .II 

III.  BELLS 19 

IV.  A       MOUNTAIN       VILLAGE,       THE       SAME 

EVENING  .....         25 

V.      A  MEDITATION  AT  THE  WINDOW    .  -31 

BOOK  II 
August  znd-jrd 

VI.      I   GO   BACK  BY  TRAIN  ....  40 

VII.      PARIS,   AT  FIRST   SIGHT  ...  45 

VIII.      MY   FATHER  .  .  .  .  .  51 

IX.      MY  FRIEND  .  .          ".  .  6O 

X.      EVENING,   ON   THE   BOULEVARDS     .  .  66 

BOOK  III 
August  4th-Qth 
XI.      THE  FIRST   STAGE  ....         72 

XII.      NEW  COMRADES    AND    OLD       ...          79 

iii 


2134182 


iv  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XIII.  KNOCKS  AND  CONTACTS  ...         85 

XIV.  THE  EXISTING  STATE  OF  MIND       .  .         93 
XV.      AT  THE  GLOBE  CAFE    ....       103 

XVI.      CAVILLINGS 117 

XVII.      SUSPICIONS  OF   EMOTION        .  .  .125 

XVIII.      A   RETURN  OF  EGOISM  .  .  .131 

PART  II 

BOOK  IV 
August  Qth-i2th 

I.      UNDER  WAY 14! 

II.      HARASSED,    ALREADY     .  .  .  .ISO 

III.      IN  BILLETS             .  .  .  .       l6o 

IV.      AN  ALARM               .            .  .  .  .       1 7O 

V.      A   THUNDERBOLT               .  .  .  .176 

BOOK  V 
August  I2th-ijth 

VI.      ON   THE  WAY  TO  THE  FIRING  LINE  .       184 

VII.      I   EXAMINE  MY  CONSCIENCE  .  .       IQO 

VIII.      AWAITING  OUR  CUE      .  .  .  .196 

IX.      THE  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE  .  .  .      2O7 

x.    A  MOMENT'S  RESPITE  .         .         .216 

XI.      A  MUCH   STIFFER  MATTER      .  .  .221 

XII.      WE   COLLECT   OURSELVES         .  .  .       232 


Contents  v 

BOOK  VI 
August  14111-251}' 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIII.  A   VICTORIOUS  DAWN    .             .            .  239 

XIV.  EN   ROUTE  AGAIN            .             .         .   , ; ;         .  250 
XV.      A   NIGHT  ON  OUTPOST   DUTY             .             .  255 

XVI.      GOOD   COMRADES              ....  265 

XVII.      DE   VALPIC 272 

XVIII.      DARK  HOURS 278 

XIX.      SPINCOURT              .....  288 

XX.      THE  WAR   BEGINS            ....  296 

PART  III 

BOOK  VII 

August  25th-September  2nd 

I.      IN   RETREAT           .....  307 

II.      DARK  DAYS             .             .            .            .;          .  314 

III.  STRENGTH   OF   MIND       .             .            .-            .  323 

IV.  OH,    MY   FRIENDS             .           '.'.'        .            .  330 
V.      A   SHADOW  ON   THE   PICTURE            .             .  337 

vi.     THE  POILUS 349 

vii.    SOCIALISM 357 

VIII.      A   TEMPTATION     .....  362 
IX.      AT   PEACE  WITH   MYSELF         .             .             -372 


vi  Contents 

BOOK  VIII 
September  znd-Jth 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

X.      NEWS  AT  LAST 379 

XI.      THE  CATHEDRAL  .  .  .  .386 

xii.    PESSIMISM 394 

XIII.  A  CHANGE  FOR  THE   BETTER  .  .      40! 

XIV.  HIGH    STRATEGY  .  .  .  .410 
XV.      A  WORD  IN   SEASON       .            .            .  .  •    419 

BOOK  IX 
September  ?th-gth 

XVI.      FINAL  ANTICIPATION     .... 
XVII.      WE  TAKE  UP  OUR   POSITION 
XVIII.      THE  FIRST   IMPACT         .... 

XIX.      HOLDING  OUT 

XX.      WE  ARE  NOT  DEFEATED         .  .  . 

XXI.      THE   CULMINATION          .... 

XXII.      SERENITY 

PART  IV 

BOOK  X 
Epilogue 
I.      APPREHENSIONS  ....      485 


Contents  vii 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

II.  RELIEF         ......      494 

III.  A  SUNLIT  CONVALESCENCE  .  .  .      5OO 

IV.  THE  AWAKENING  ....      509 
V.  A  GIRL  OF   1915  .  .  .  .519 


PART  I 


BOOK  I 
August  i,  1914 


CHAPTER  I 

JEANNINE    LANDRY 

I  CAN  see  myself  again  on  that  afternoon  walking 
up  and  down  the  platform  of  Vallorbe  Station.  At 
my  side  little  Andre,  aged  twelve,  sailor-collared  and 
bare-legged,  besieged  me  with  questions  concerning 
sport.  It  was  his  craze.  I  did  my  best  to  give  him 
the  information  he  wanted,  while  waiting  impatiently 
for  his  people  to  reappear. 

I  had  offered  to  look  after  the  ladies'  luggage,  but 
the  grandmother  had  declined  my  help  with  thanks. 
Jeannine  was  so  capable!  These  little  jobs  amused 
her. 

The  girl  came  out  on  to  the  platform  towards  us, 
and  wanted  to  take  back  her  dressing  bag.  I  refused 
to  allow  it. 

Madame  Landry  joined  us.  I  took  her  to  a  seat 
but  she  refused  to  sit  down,  she  was  not  tired.  I 
always  admired  her,  slim  and  alert  at  over  sixty. 

I  had  made  their  acquaintance  at  the  hotel  at  which 
we  had  arrived  together  three  weeks  before.  The  old 

3 


4  Ordeal  by  Fire 

lady,  who  was  the  widow  of  an  Inspector  of  Finances, 
always  began  by  keeping  her  distance.  The  chance 
discovery  that  I  was  the  son  of  an  officer  in  the  army 
had  prejudiced  her  in  my  favour.  The  Landrys  had 
many  connections  with  the  army,  and  Colonel  Dreher's 
name  was  not  unknown  to  them.  The  grandmother 
had  been  able  to  prove,  by  the  concurrence  of  various 
dates,  that  my  father  must  have  received  his  commis- 
sion at  the  same  time  as  her  own  brother,  who  had  been 
seriously  wounded  in  the  year  '70.  This  was  reason 
enough  for  us  to  become  very  intimate  in  a  few  days. 
I  learnt  that  Madame  Landry  had  lost  her  son,  a  lieu- 
tenant in  the  Cuirassiers,  twelve  years  before.  He  had 
been  killed  by  a  horse's  kick  and  her  daughter-in-law 
had  died  in  childbirth  a  few  weeks  later,  whereupon 
she  undertook  to  bring  up  her  two  grandchildren. 

Jeannine  was  quite  young,  eighteen  or  nineteen, 
I  think — she  refused  to  tell  me  her  age,  just  for  fun. 
She  was  tall  and  slim,  and  bright-eyed;  her  mouse- 
coloured  hair  curled  and  entangled  itself  in  spite  of  all 
she  could  do.  She  had  spent  two  years  in  England. 
It  must  have  been  there  that  she  had  picked  up  this 
rather  offhand,  or  more  correctly  speaking,  this  playful 
manner,  whose  manifestations  sometimes  surprised 
her  grandmother,  though  they  rarely  shocked  her. 

I  who  hold  in  equal  abhorrence  insipid  or  hypo- 
critical goody-goodies  and  brazen  coquettes,  had  been 
attracted  by  this  frank  ingenuity,  this  assurance  which 
was  quite  innocent  of  all  effrontery.  Our  friendship 
had  been  formed  on  the  tennis  court.  Jeannine,  who 
was  nimble  and  skilful  and  keen,  was  delighted  to  find 
a  worthy  opponent.  She  challenged  me  anew  every 
morning.  She  fought  obstinately  and  was  annoyed 
if  I  paid  her  compliments.  In  the  afternoon  we  went 


Jeannine  Landry  5 

for  walks,  chaperoned  by  Madame  Landry,  or  the 
little  brother,  and  in  the  evening  we  both  enjoyed 
our  interminable  discussions  on  the  terrace  where 
sweet-scented  breezes  blew. 

The  grandmother  only  put  in  an  occasional  word 
from  her  arm-chair,  a  little  way  off.  Jeannine  willingly 
avoided  topical  futilities.  Literature,  painting,  music, 
or  even  politics — why  not? — the  occult  sciences — a 
fruitful  subject  of  conversation  when  the  mysterious 
night  is  falling — she  broached  them  all  quite  fearlessly. 
I  have  always  had  a  taste  for  riding  headlong  through 
these  preserves  of  metaphysics  or  ethics.  Philoso- 
phers only  venture  there  too  gingerly,  unravelling  the 
thread  of  a  theory.  The  most  delightful  recreation 
is  to  disport  oneself  there  as  if  in  conquered  territory, 
to  breast  at  a  gallop  some  hilltop  or  other,  where  one 
breathes  in  draughts  of  pure  air,  whence  one  may  cast 
a  bold  eye  on  life. 

Jeannine  was  not  at  all  apprehensive  of  these  giddy 
escapades.  It  was  an  intellectual  gymnastic,  satisfy- 
ing apparently  the  same  taste  for  action  and  expan- 
sion which  she  showed  in  the  physical  sphere.  And 
yet  after  one  of  these  flights  she  used  to  feel  the  neces- 
sity of  drawing  breath  and  retiring  upon  some  grace- 
ful standpoint,  in  the  same  way  in  which  she  would 
make  a  point  of  doing  her  hair  and  dressing  for  dinner, 
on  her  return  from  an  expedition.  If  I  tried  to  lure 
her  on  again,  she  resisted  with  a  smile. 

"No,  now  let's  talk  seriously." 

Then  I  would  see  her  withdraw  into  a  fortress  built 
of  all  she  definitely  believed  and  knew,  opinions, 
reveries,  and  prejudices  which,  though  she  was  charm- 
ingly logical,  she  owed  to  her  race  and  education. 
The  best  of  it  was  that  once  in  refuge  there,  in  full 


6  Ordeal  by  Fire 

possession  of  her  truths,  the  last  thing  she  aimed  at 
was  to  convert  me.  I,  in  my  turn,  was  obliged  to  shut 
myself  up  behind  ramparts ;  I  had  some  all  ready-made 
from  whence  I  braved  the  world. 

Oh !  there  was  nothing  very  new  in  it,  in  this  doctrine 
I  had  drawn  from  my  reading  and  reflections,  but  I 
flattered  myself  that  by  having  thought  it  over,  I  had 
made  it  my  own  private  property.  It  was  the  eter- 
nal ego.  Jeannine  protested  against  it.  She  claimed 
that  she  was  not  at  all  a  rebel  to  the  requirements  of 
logic,  indeed  I  recognised  her  intellectual  courage,  her 
taste  for  sincerity.  She  had  no  religion  to  embarrass 
her,  no  faith  with  which  she  might  be  tempted  to  oppose 
the  claims  of  her  reason.  Was  she  eventa  Catholic? 
No,  simply  a  free-thinker,  though  she  did  not  boast 
about  it  in  order  not  to  grieve  her  grandmother,  who 
was,  by  the  way,  but  a  lukewarm  devote.  She  dreamt, 
however,  that  pure  self-love  was  not  the  highest  end, 
that  there  were  great  souls,  and  lesser  ones,  that  from 
time  to  time,  a  little  of  the  divine  might  inspire  our 
dust.  .  .  . 

Moonshine!  I  chaffed  her:  I  made  fun  of  all  her 
would-be  noble  feelings;  I  discovered  gnawing  egoism 
in  them ;  I  raised  this  dreary  God  to  a  pinnacle.  I  went 
further;  I  was  not  afraid  to  unveil  for  her  sometimes 
the  depths  of  my  nihilism.  Dried  up  and  incapable  of 
experiencing  the  least  emotion,  I  had  adopted  the 
standpoint,  I  told  her,  of  considering  the  universe  as 
a  scene,  life  as  a  vulgar  farce,  denuded  of  rhythm  and 
spaciousness,  where  each  of  us  played  a  part.  I  did  not 
envy  that  of  any  one  else,  and  mine  did  not  interest 
me  in  the  least. 

When  I  made  such  confessions  Jeannine  looked  at 
me  in  silence;  then  she  began  to  laugh: 


Jeannine  Landry  7 

"You're  making  fun  of  me!" 

I  denied  it,  guilty  nevertheless  of  a  smile  which 
belied  me.  But,  in  my  inmost  conscience,  I  knew  only 
too  well  that  I  had  not  spoken  in  fun.  This  young 
dialectician,  whom  my  paradoxes  amused,  would  have 
been  chilled,  revolted,  estranged  from  me  for  ever,  if 
she  had  thought  that  my  courtesy  hid  nothing  but  this 
brutal  scepticism,  this  cowardly  lack  of  curiosity. 

The  train  was  late;  Madame  Landry  wished  to  set 
me  free : 

"  The  time  is  getting  on  .  .  .  if  you  have  to  go  as 
far  as  your  cousins'  .  .  .  " 

I  naturally  replied  that  I  had  plenty  of  time  before 
me. 

"And  then  you  want  your  papers!"  Jeannine  insin- 
uated maliciously. 

It  is  true  that  I  watched  for  the  arrival  of  the  Paris 
papers  every  evening.  Simply  a  matter  of  habit;  so 
little  news  concerned  me !  The  day  before,  as  it  hap- 
pened, the  post  had  brought  me  nothing.  I  almost  sus- 
pected Jeannine  of  having  laid  hands  on  the  mail.  In 
any  case,  my  vexation  and  my  grumbles  had  delighted 
her. 

An  absolute  child ! 

The  train  still  did  not  arrive.  Conversation  lan- 
guished. I  started  a  subject  likely  to  interest  the 
travellers.  They  were  going  to  make  a  short  stay  on 
,  the  shores  of  Lake  Leman,  a  part  which  was  strange  to 
them,  but  which  I  said  they  would  think  they  recog- 
nised, it  bore  so  great  a  resemblance  on  the  whole  to 
the  French  Riviera,  the  neighbourhood  of  Cannes  and 
Mentone,  where  they  spent  the  winter.  I  told  them 
of  a  comfortable  hotel  at  Montreux. 


8  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Jeannine  seemed  preoccupied. 

"We  shall  miss  Ballaigues. " 

"  She  loves  this  part  of  the  world, "  said  her  grand- 
mother. 

"I  very  much  hope  we  shall  be  back  no  later  than 
next  week, "  continued  the  girl. 

I  teased: 

"One  makes  up  one's  mind  about  that;  and  then 
when  one  is  happy  elsewhere  .  .  .  " 

" Must  I  take  my  oath  on  it?" 

"By  Jove!     That  would  make  me  decide  to  stay." 

I  reflected  that  with  her  away,  Ballaigues  would  lose 
much  of  its  charm.  With  the  exception  of  Cipollina 
I  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  other  guests  at  the 
hotel,  foreigners  for  the  most  part.  My  holiday  was 
nearly  at  an  end.  I  did  not  doubt  that  at  my  request 
my  director,  accommodating  creature  that  he  was, 
would  make  no  difficulties  about  extending  my  stay  in 
Switzerland  by  a  fortnight.  But  if  the  Landrys  did 
not  .  .  . 

The  girl  read  my  thoughts. 

"You  know  quite  well,"  she  said,  "that  we've 
arranged  to  go  up  the  Dent  de  Vaulion. " 

"It  will  be  the  Pendant  du  Suchet." 

I  felt  that  we  were  going  over  the  details  of  the  ex- 
pedition in  silence.  ...  I  saw  once  more  our  start 
at  midnight — we  were  quite  a  troop  with  my  cousins 
the  de  Jougnes; — the  formation  of  a  column,  the  men 
waving  lamps,  the  women  helping  themselves  along 
with  ice-axes;  the  long  ascent  enlivened  by  songs  and 
chatter;  we  should  have  gone  astray  a  hundred  times 
but  for  the  sure  instinct  of  Doctor  Claudel,  an  old  in- 
habitant of  the  country;  the  cows  in  the  fields,  awak- 
ened by  our  torches  and  our  laughter,  getting  up  and 


Jeannine  Landry  9 

making  their  bells  tinkle;  the  end  of  the  ascent  grown 
rougher,  our  shoes,  which  were  unprovided  with  nails, 
slipping  on  the  stony  incline ;  several  tumbles ;  a  little 
wall  skirted  and  then  crossed.  And  all  at  once,  at  our 
side,  the  lights  of  the  canton  of  Vaud  had  revealed 
themselves,  at  an  immense  depth,  through  a  curtain  of 
gloom :  they  might  have  been  the  lights  of  ships  in  the 
roads,  seen  from  the  top  of  a  gigantic  cliff.  The  dark- 
ness had  dissipated  gradually  like  a  mist.  Little  by  lit- 
tle the  horizon  had  withdrawn  to  the  boundaries  of  the 
world.  The  pure  line  of  snowy  Alps  stood  out  against 
the  rosy  streak  of  dawn.  ...  A  few  minutes  of 
waiting,  and  Phcebus  rose  resplendent  and  expanded, 
assuming  many  a  bizarre  shape,  until,  full-blown  and 
triumphant,  he  deigned  to  reflect  his  disk  in  the  waters 
of  Neufchatel. 

The  picture  held  me  captive.  As  Jeannine  repeated, 
"In  a  week's  time  .  .  .  that's  agreed,  isn't  it?" 
I  acquiesced;  and  then  said  whimsically: 

"Who  knows  what  may  have  happened  in  a  week's 
time!  We  may  be  in  the  midst  of  war!" 

"Oh,  come,  there  won't  be  anymore  war!"  Then 
suddenly  grown  serious: 

"You  don't  believe  it,  do  you?"  she  went  on. 

I  affected  a  certain  gravity: 

"Well,  really,  the  papers  were  horribly  pessimistic 
the  day  before  yesterday  ..." 

"Here's  the  train!"  the  little  boy  interrupted. 

The  majestic  express  thundered  into  the  station. 
It  stopped,  all  the  breaks  creaking.  The  passengers  got 
out  in  bad  tempers,  to  go  to  the  custom-house.  I 
had  the  luck  to  find  places  for  my  party;  a  priest  with 
a  scared  face  questioned  me  in  German : 

"  Revitzionne, "  I  said. 


io  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Fa,  ya." 

He  hurled  himself  into  the  corridor  with  his  hands 
full  of  packages. 

Having  settled  themselves  in,  the  ladies  thanked  me. 
A  particular  gentleness  distinguished  Jeannine's  tone; 
she  announced  once  more  that  we  should  soon  meet 
again;  besides,  whatever  happened,  couldn't  we  agree 
to  exchange  .  .  .  postcards?  I  vowed  myself 
charmed  by  the  idea,  and  took  note  of  a  double 
address  at  Cape  d'Antibes  and  at  St.  Mande". 

I1-  would  soon  be  time  to  start.  I  left  the  carriage 
and  went  and  leant  on  the  door  where  the  window  had 
been  let  down. 

We  had  no  more  to  say  to  each  other.  I  wished  the 
train  would  get  under  way. 

Jeannine  pulled  a  roguish  face: 

"We  are  keeping  you  standing  there  .  .  .  when 
your  papers  have  just  arrived  .  .  .  " 

I  had  not  time  to  retort  with  a  joke.     She  corrected : 

"No,  I've  teased  you  enough!  I  don't  want  you  to 
have  unpleasant  recollections  of  me  .  .  .  ." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  I  said,  smiling;  "the  recollec- 
tions are  charming. " 

The  train  started  off,  without  a  whistle.  The  girl 
held  out  her  gloved  hand  to  me  through  the  window; 
I  seized  it;  she  gave  mine  a  fleeting  squeeze.  Andre" 
waved  his  hat,  Madame  Landry  bowed.  I  walked  along 
beside  the  carriage  for  a  few  yards,  and  nodded  a  last 
farewell. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   YOUNG   MAN   OF    1914 

"HELLO!  the  Paris  papers  not  come  yet?" 

"Just  what  I  was  saying  to  these  gentlemen. " 

"You  don't  know  when  they  ought  to  get  here? " 

"We  know  nothing  about  it,  sir." 

" Have  you  any  left  from  last  night   .    .    .?" 

The  saleswoman  looked  through  the  rows. 

"Not  a  single  one,  sir." 

I  left  the  station,  thinking  what  a  sell!  I  had 
hardly  gone  a  hundred  yards  before  I  heard  myself 
called. 

' '  Halloa  there !     Signor  Dreher ! ' ' 

I  turned  round : 

"Oh!    It's  you!" 

"I  say,  pretty  bad,  the  news,  what!" 

"Really,  let's  hear  it?" 

"I've  just  glanced  through  the  Tribune de  Lausanne. 
Berlin  announces  that  war  is  imminent;  Austria  is 
mobilising;  they    say  we're    going  to  do  the  same 
thing. " 
,    "No?" 

I  was  dumbfounded  for  a  moment;  then,  "Oh  come! 
You'll  see  that  affairs  will  settle  themselves  yet.." 

He  shook  his  head : 

"It's  quite  true;  nobody  wants  to  fight.     What 
ii 


12  Ordeal  by  Fire 

about  you,  would  it  convey  anything  to  you  to  go  and 
get  your  skin  punctured?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders: 

"Those  are  all  journalists'  tales!  As  copy  is  scarce 
in  summer,  they  start  rumours  of  tension,  of  possible 
rupture,  at  this  season,  every  year.  .  .  .  " 

"Suppose  it  should  be  serious,  this  time  .    .    .  ?" 

"Nonsense!  Can  you  see  the  French  and  Germans 
breaking  each  other's  heads  .  .  .  for  Serbia?" 

We  followed  the  dusty  road,  ascending  from  Bal- 
laigues;  then  in  the  high  path  to  La  Ferriere,  I  per- 
suaded my  companion  to  bear  me  company  on  the 
way  to  Jougne. 

Cipollina  was  the  only  Frenchman  of  my  age  whom 
I  had  met  at  the  hotel.  He  was  a  dark-haired  youth, 
slight  and  elegant,  with  refined  features,  but  a  crooked 
nose,  a  blemish  which,  according  to  Jeannine,  gave  him 
an  expression  of  incredible  falseness.  The  ladies  had 
not  allowed  him  to  meddle  with  them  at  all;  the  cold 
manner  in  which  they  had  acknowledged  his  greetings 
sometimes  made  me  ill  at  ease,  as  I  was  a  friend  of  his. 

A  friend!  Well,  hardly.  But  for  Laquarriere  I 
had  no  intimate  friend,  and  no  wish  for  any ;  I  made  use 
of  Cipollina  to  fill  up  the  intervals  when  convention 
forbade  my  intruding  upon  the  Landrys. 

His  society,  moreover,  was  not  devoid  of  interest. 
He  had  travelled  so  much,  rubbed  up  against  so  many 
people,  seen  so  many  things.  Having  entered,  at  the 
age  of  fourteen,  a  big  silk  firm  managed  by  one  of  his 
uncles,  whose  counting  houses  were  to  be  foun4  all 
over  the  world,  he  had  been  successively  a  sojourner  in 
very  varied  latitudes,  from  Colombo  to  Boston,  from. 
Rio  Janeiro  to  Yokohama.  An  intelligent  observer, 
he  owed  to  his  wanderings  and  to  his  early  contact 


A  Young  Man  of  1914  13 

with  the  different  races  of  merchants,  a  dry  and  caustic 
turn  of  mind  not  unakin  to  my  own.  Thence  sprang 
our  speedy  understanding,  which  resembled  real 
harmony,  without  either  of  us  feeling  much  liking  or 
esteem  for  the  other.  As  cynics  we  agreed  in  our 
scornful  verdicts  on  others  and  on  ourselves.  I  must 
say  that  he  did  not  flatter  himself  that  he  was  in  any 
way  an  intellectual.  Each  time  I  sketched  some  gen- 
eralisation, or  laid  the  foundations  of  a  system,  he 
escaped  me,  sneering: 

"Oh,  that's  literature. " 

Then,  irritated,  I  inwardly  dubbed  him  a  "counter- 
jumper." 

"Have  you  been  to  see  the  Landrys  off?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"Yes." 

"Shall  you  see  them  again  in  Paris?" 

"Before  that  perhaps.  They  expect  to  comeback 
here." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  leave?" 

"I  don't  know  now.     That  will  depend!" 

He  gave  a  little  laugh  which  annoyed  me. 

"Oh,  so  things  are  getting  on?" 

"What's  getting  on?" 

"Your  schemes." 

"What  schemes?" 

"To  do  with  the  girl  of  course. " 

I  did  not  deign  to  seem  vexed,  and  put  on  a  joking 
tone. 

"My  dear  fellow,  after  all  I've  said  to  you  on  that 
subject!" 

"  It's  possible  to  change  one's  mind. " 

"No.  It  would  never  even  enter  my  head  to  change 
my  mind  about  that. " 


14  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  summed  up,  in  a  few  words,  one  of  my  favourite 
theses:  marriage  in  our  state  of  civilisation  is  an  ab- 
surdity ;  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  chain  oneself  for  the 
rest  of  one's  life  to  a  woman — and  such  a  woman,  a 
girl,  a  creature  still  in  germ,  who  had  revealed  nothing 
of  her  secret.  It  would  certainly  need  an  artlessness 
to  which  I  was  no  longer  susceptible,  or  a  faculty  for 
enthusiasm  still  more  extinct  in  me.  Each  time  a 
friend  told  me  of  his  happy  engagement  I  gazed  at 
him  in  astonishment  as  at  a  being  fallen  from  another 
planet.  I  concluded: 

"This  little  Landry  girl  is  right  enough  to  flirt  with 
in  the  holidays!  She's  not  displeasing  or  stupid,  but 
I  beg  you  to  believe  that  there  is  nothing,  and  never 
will  be  anything  between  us .  .  .  ." 

Had  I  convinced  him.  He  continued  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence. 

"They  say   .    .    .  she's  well  off !" 

"That  doesn't  tempt  me  either." 

He  protested : 

"My  dear  chap,  you're  very  much  like  the  rest  of 
the  world!" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  assured  him  that  I  was 
perfectly  happy. 

"No  ambitions?" 

"None." 

At  his  look  of  unbelief  I  set  myself  to  sing  the 
praises  of  the  dilettante's  life  I  was  leading.  Some 
question  he  asked  led  me  to  go  into  certain  details  to 
illustrate  the  way  in  which  everything  had  always 
gone  well  with  me. 

I  had  not  drifted  for  long  when  my  legal  studies  were 
over.  An  old  family  friend,  the  manager  of  the  Abys- 
sinian Railway  Company,  had  asked  me  to  become  his 


A  Young  Man  of  1914  15 

private  secretary.  I  accepted  the  post.  Another  had 
soon  fallen  vacant,  that  of  General  Secretary.  Sug- 
gested as  a  stop-gap,  I  had  acquitted  myself  to  every- 
one's satisfaction.  I  was  good  at  interviewing  visitors, 
and  wrote  with  a  certain  amount  of  style.  My  ap- 
pointment was  confirmed.  The  business  was  a  sound 
one,  when  the  time  for  exploitation  came,  it  would  be 
excellent.  I  had  put  some  capital  into  it.  I  had  not 
much  work,  only  four  hours  a  day  to  put  in.  I  earned 
ample  to  live  on.  What  more  could  I  have  wished 
for? 

Cipollina  slyly  urged  me  to  enumerate  what  he 
called  my  positive  joys.  I  demurred,  none  too  good- 
naturedly. 

"We  have  so  few  tastes  in  common. " 

But,  privately,  I  invoked  my  customary  amuse- 
ments: dinner  in  a  restaurant  on  the  boulevards, 
where  I  used  to  meet  Laquarri^re :  it  was  there  that  we 
exchanged  our  stock  of  ill-natured  sallies:  then  there 
would  be  bridge,  poker,  or  billiards :  and  often  a  theatre, 
though  it  did  not  appeal  to  us  much ;  from  time  to  time 
a  boxing  match,  or  on  Sunday,  in  the  Pare  des  Prince's, 
a  sensational  football  tie.  These  last  shows  held  the 
most  interest  for  me.  They  reminded  me  of  the  still 
recent  time  when  I  myself  excelled  in  these  games,  and 
I  still  continued,  though  somewhat  irregularly,  to  fre- 
quent a  school  of  physical  culture. 

I  had  scratched  sentiment  out  of  my  life  once  and 
for  all.  Paris  offers  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  sensual 
attractions  to  those  possessed  of  time  and  money.  I 
had  both,  but  I  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  being  tied 
to  one  person,  and  as  I  also  detested  the  flat  period  of 
preliminary  gallantries,  I  came  to  content  myself  with 
a  wise  and  banal  voluptuousness.  More  restricted 


16  Ordeal  by  Fire 

still  was  the  balance-sheet  of  family  obligations  and 
satisfactions.  I  would  not  have  missed  dining  with 
my  father  on  Sunday  evening.  At  long  intervals  I 
wrote  a  few  lines  on  a  card  to  my  married  brother,  an 
officer  at  St.  Mihiel. 

I  have  spoken  of  my  dilettantism :  the  word  gratified 
my  vanity  and  was  just,  in  the  main,  as  certain  artistic 
tendencies  distinguished  me  from  the  herd  of  vulgar 
pleasure-seekers.  I  read  a  great  deal.  I  bought  novels 
and  philosophies,  and  had  a  weakness  for  pretty  edi- 
tions. I  made  a  point  of  being  well  up  in  matters  con- 
cerning painting  and  music.  I  owned  some  admirable 
eighteenth-century  prints,  a  small  series  by  Daumier, 
an  oil-painting  by  Pissarro.  I  vaguely  cherished  the 
hope  of  making  a  sort  of  collection  of  which  my  friends 
would  one  day  be  jealous.  That  was  all.  I  might 
ransack  my  mind  indefinitely  but  I  should  not  find  a 
possibility  of  joy  beyond  these  few  instances. 

Oh !  this  reckoning.  I  had  made  it  so  often,  anxious 
to  ascertain  what  I  loved,  and  what  I  was  worth.  I 
generally  congratulated  myself  on  the  fact  that  an 
equal  balance  was  maintained  between  the  desires  and 
pleasures.  Why  did  everything  taste  so  flat  to-day, 
I  thought.  What  beauty  is  incarnate  to  me  ?  What 
virtue  worthy  of  existence?  What  was  I  good  for? 
Might  I  not  have  been  eliminated  without  loss  to 
others  or  even  to  myself? 

This  impression  did  not  last  long.  I  smiled.  What 
was  I  worrying  about  ?  To  proclaim  oneself  happy  was 
to  be  happy.  I  could  do  it.  I  was  never  anything 
but  an  object  of  envy.  A  doubt  crossed  my  mind, 
however.  Certain  moralists,  I  thought,  consider  life 
bearable  only  when  supported  by  some  passion.  I 
only  know  of  two:  Love?  With  all  her  train  of  folly 


A  Young  Man  of  1914  17 

and  suffering.  Her  victims  are  spoken  of  more  than 
all  else.  Real  good  fortune  to  be  emancipated  from 
it.  Ambition?  Is  not  this  insatiable  by  its  very 
nature?  There  are  so  few  chief  parts,  and  all  great 
destinies  go  hand-in-hand  with  an  assurance  which  I 
lacked  .  .  .  and  then,  did  I  not  appreciate  the  high- 
est pinnacle  of  fortune  at  its  paltry  worth !  Did  not 
true  wisdom  lie  in  admitting  that  one  is  nothing  but  a 
man  lost  in  the  mass  of  men,  to  order  one's  life  so  as 
to  glide  in  peace  through  this  indifferent  term,  lacking 
a  morrow;  without  cherishing  a  thousand  longings 
above  one's  state,  or  naively  spurring  oneself  to  sterile 
enthusiasms? 

I  pondered  over  these  familiar  reflections  for  my 
comfort.  To  my  surprise  the  shadow  of  melancholy 
which  had  hovered  over  my  head  did  not  dissipate  so 
easily.  I  had  difficulty  in  picturing  to  myself  without 
bitterness  and  fatigue  my  life  to  come,  similar  to 
millions  of  others,  void  of  deep  sorrows  as  of  sublime 
joys,  this  dreary  life  which  in  ten  years  or  in  forty 
would  end  in  solitude,  sickness,  and  suffering,  in  the 
clutches  of  that  cursed  enemy,  Boredom,  whose  first 
treacherous  onslaught  I  thought  I  could  feel .... 

We  had  just  crossed  the  frontier,  and  were  skirting 
some  meagre  plantations  of  firs  hanging  to  the  ridge. 
My  companion  had  begun  to  talk  to  me  of  Japan:  he 
never  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  his  en- 
thusiasm but  he  admired  this  warlike  and  trading 
nation,  at  last  recovered  after  the  necessary  trial, 
gifted  with  a  colossal  power  of  expansion,  and  who,  one 
of  these  days  would  take  Indo-China  from  us  at  a 
move.  He  added: 

"My  dear  fellow,  the  prestige  of  France  in  the  Far 
East  has  declined  to  such  an  extent  that  in  order  to 


1 8  Ordeal  by  Fire 

do  business  we  have  to  pose  as  an  English  firm.     Out 
there  I  called  myself  Smith. " 

I  noted  this  detail  with  interest  as  a  sign  of  our 
decadence. 


CHAPTER  III 

BELLS 

Now  on  our  left  at  the  bottom  of  the  widened  valley 
lay  La  Ferri£re,  grouped  coquettishly  round  the  tall 
chimney  of  a  factory,  whence  escaped  slowly-swelling 
volumes  of  smoke;  the  slender  Jougninaz  meandered 
ribbon-like  among  the  grasses,  slipping  towards  the 
neighbouring  Orbe.  On  the  side  of  the  opposite  slope, 
often  lost  to  view  in  the  zone  of  bushes  and  brushwood, 
the  railway  and  the  winding  road,  embracing  each 
rocky  contour,  descended  from  the  summit  of  the  Col. 
Up  above,  the  huge  grey  wall  of  the  Mont  d'Or  rose  in 
a  peak,  whose  ridges  stood  out  clearly  against  a  pale 
blue  sky,  a  scarcely  perceptible  cross  marked  the  crest 
of  the  mountain.  In  olden  days  Mandrin  and  his 
bands  used  to  come  back  into  France  by  night  by 
giddy  pathways  along  this  rampart;  any  one  who 
stumbled  was  fair  game  for  the  wolves  at  the  bottom. 

Midday  had  been  roasting;  but  the  height,  and  the 
approach  of  evening,  brought  coolness;  not  a  trace  of 
mist  on  the  mountain  tops;  everything  was  quietness 
and  purity. 

The  road  had  just  taken  a  turn.  Jougne  came  into 
view,  a  vision  which  always  enchanted  me :  the  houses 
in  the  village,  brand  new,  dazzlingly  white,  or  a  light 
vermilion,  contrasted  with  the  stalwart  old  grey  church 

19 


2O  Ordeal  by  Fire 

overhanging  a  high  fortress.  One  imagined  that  the 
place  must  have  been  unparalleled  in  the  command 
afforded  over  the  only  two  big  valleys  which  for  ten 
miles  round  cut  through  the  rugged  chain  of  the  Jura. 

Cipollina  suddenly  stood  still  and  put  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder : 

"Just  listen!" 

Straining  my  ears  in  the  direction  of  the  village,  I 
listened  intently. 

"Well!     What's  up?  "I  said.     "Thebells?" 

"Yes,  the  bells.  .  .  .  What  are  they  ringing  for 
there?" 

A  gentle  breeze  had  got  up,  and  bore  with  it  the 
call  of  the  bronze;  it  was  a  sinister  throbbing,  hurried 
and  unequal ;  I  had  a  feeling  that  there  was  neither  a 
peal  of  joy  bells,  nor  the  dismal  tolling  of  the  knell. 
We  went  on  for  a  few  steps.  Now,  more  powerful  and 
sonorous,  with  three  jerky  notes  repeated  at  short 
intervals,  the  wild  peal  of  alarm  filled  all  the  valley. 

"The  tocsin!"  said  Cipollina. 

"Well?" 

"When  do  they  ring  the  tocsin?" 

"  In  case  of  fire,  I  suppose. " 

"  Do  you  see  any  trace  of  fire? " 

With  the  same  circular  glance,  we  took  in  our  sur- 
roundings. 

Two  miles  of  verdant  valley,  lay  unfolded  before  us; 
not  a  puff  of  smoke,  save  the  column  of  the  factory,  and 
the  steam  from  a  descending  train. 

Cipollina  muttered : 

"Don't  they  also  sound  the  tocsin  in  case  of  ... 
mobilisation?" 

"Oh!     Steady  on!" 

"What  do  we  know  about  it!"  he  exclaimed. 


Bells  21 

There  was  a  short  silence,  then  I  said : 
"We  shall  find  out  at  Jougne.     Are  you  coming?" 
"No,  I'm  going  back." 
"Aren't  you  curious  about  it?" 
"I've  no  reason  for  going  down  there." 
I  looked  him  in  the  face.     He  met  my  gaze  quite 
comfortably;  but  the  twist  in  his  nose  struck  me. 
"Well,  then,  till  we  meet  again!"  I  said  to  him. 
"You'll  come  back  to  the  hotel  this  evening?" 
"Why  ....  of  course. " 
"  Yes,  of  course. " 

While  hurrying  towards  Jougne,  I  tried  to  recall  as 
much  as  I  could  the  events  of  the  last  few  days.  It  was 
not  much.  A  month  ago,  at  the  beginning  of  my  holi- 
days, there  had  been  the  Grand  Duke  Ferdinand's 
assassination ;  it  seemed  a  tragic  incident  and  nothing 
more.  A  famous  law-suit  had  diverted  attention  from 
it.  Last  Saturday,  a  sensational  coup;  a  startling 
awakening:  Austria's  ultimatum  to  Serbia  couched 
in  terms  very  different  from  the  usual  courtesy  shown 
in  diplomatic  notes.  Relaxation  had  come  during  the 
following  days,  at  least  as  far  as  I  could  see.  The  small 
State  was  giving  in;  councils  of  prudence  from  St. 
Petersburg  had,  without  doubt,  been  received  at  Bel- 
grade; everything  seemed  to  be  going  to  calm  down; 
though  the  decision  was  to  be  referred  to  the  arbitration 
of  the  Great  Powers.  But  since,  since!  .  .  .  How 
stupid  it  was  that  my  papers  should  have  failed  me 
j ust  these  two  days !  To-day's  not  arriving !  In  seventy- 
two  hours  the  world  moves!  What  had  Cipollina 
said?  The  whole  of  Europe  in  arms'  A  fact  more 
novel  than  alarming.  I  suddenly  brought  to  mind 
certain  articles  with  pessimistic  undercurrents.  Cer- 


22  Ordeal  by  Fire 

tain  coincidences  occurred  to  me:  the  campaign  for 
armaments,  that  belonged  to  last  week ;  like  the  social- 
istic call  to  make  a  stand  against  war  .  .  .  and  the 
Government  away !  And  England's  difficulties !  Sup- 
posing that,  having  considered  all  this  "They"  had 
judged  the  moment  propitious? 

No.  I  smothered  my  agitation.  We  had  come 
through  so  many  of  these  critical  times:  Algeciras, 
Agadir,  Saverne,  Lun6ville,  Nancy.  .  .  .  The 
little  Landry  girl  was  right,  we  should  have  no  more 
war,  it  was  too  terrible,  too  risky! 

The  bells  had  stopped  ringing  their  tumultuous 
peal,  I  attributed  to  their  silence  the  virtue  of  an 
appeasement.  I  even  smiled.  I  mocked  at  my  fears. 
Oh,  come  now!  The  War,  the  Great  War!  Would  it 
be  likely  to  break  out  in  such  a  way ! 

I  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  On  my 
way  I  leaned  over  the  Jougninaz,  which  had  dwindled. 
It  was  the  trout  season !  I  would  suggest  a  little  fish- 
ing to  my  cousin  one  of  these  days. 

I  thoughtlessly  began  to  climb  the  sudden  rise  of  the 
mountain.  When  I  had  reached  the  summit  in  a 
perspiration,  I  threw  a  friendly  glance,  by  way  of 
greeting,  at  the  Aiguillon  de  Baume,  and  on  the  right 
at  the  bald  summit  of  the  Suchet,  which  we  had  reached 
the  other  night.  I  stopped  to  breathe  for  a  moment. 
I  should  have  smoothed  my  hair,  and  wiped  the  dust 
off  my  forehead  if  I  had  known  I  was  to  meet  my 
pretty  cousin  Germaine,  at  her  people's  house,  but 
she  had  rejoined  her  husband,  a  captain  at  Belfort,  not 
long  before. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  passed  through  the  railings. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  shade  of  the  elders.  I  crossed 
the  courtyard,  and  began  to  climb  the  stairs. 


Bells  23 

My  cousin's  silhouette  appeared  on  the  landing 
above. 

"Who's  there?    Is  it  you,  Michel?" 

"How  are  you?"  I  cried  gaily. 

"Have  you  heard?"  she  called  to  me. 

"Heard  what?" 

"War  is  declared." 

"No!" 

A  mist  enfolded  me.  I  managed  to  get  up  to  the 
top  by  holding  on  to  the  banisters.  On  the  landing 
I  said  mechanically : 

"What?  what  did  you  say?" 

She  pushed  me  into  the  drawing-room. 

"Go  in,  go  in.  Your  cousin  will  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

Left  alone  for  a  minute  I  considered  the  well-known 
furniture  in  a  dazed  way ;  the  piano  with  the  open  score 
of  Rigoletto,  the  arm-chairs  in  loose  covers,  the  two 
big  couches,  the  two  greenish  screens  ...  I  sought 
a  new  aspect  of  it  all ;  I  childishly  reminded  myself 
that  I  must  remember  that  the  things  were  in  a  like 
state  when  war  was  declared. 

My  cousin,  the  doctor,  a  sturdy  mountaineer,  tall 
and  highly  coloured,  came  in  and  quietly  held  out  his 
hand  to  me. 

"Well,  there  we  are!"  he  said. 

I  got  nothing  but  a  few  concise  particulars  out  of  him ; 
ever  since  the  morning  they  had  realised  that  things 
were  going  from  bad  to  worse,  the  "  Pontissalien " 
usually  so  guarded  ended  its  leading  article  by  a  very 
clearly  stated  warning  that  we  must  be  prepared  for 
anything.  Our  frontier  had  been  violated,  communi- 
cations cut  off.  Our  custom-house  officers  at  Petit- 
Croix  had  been  shot  at  last  night.  Negotiations  had 


24  Ordeal  by  Fire 

continued,  however.     As  a  matter  of  fact  the  official 

telegram,  which  had  arrived  on  the  stroke  of  five 

o'clock  contained  only  the  seven  words: 

"Sunday.     August  2nd. 

First  day  of  Mobilisation." 

"What  do  you  say  to  going  to  the  Town  Hall?" 
suggested  the  doctor. 

I  agreed,  as  meekly  as  one  intoxicated.     We  went 
out.     We  had  only  a  step  or  two  to  go. 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  MOUNTAIN  VILLAGE,   THE  SAME  EVENING 

THE  telegram  from  the  Prefecture  was  posted  up  at 
the  door.  It  was  still  daylight,  I  lingered  to  gaze  at 
it.  My  cousin  took  me  by  the  arm. 

"  I  say,  come  along  in. " 

There  was  no  one  there  but  Alfred  Lecomte,  the  town 
clerk,  a  still  youthful  peasant  of  a  thoughtful  cast  of 
countenance,  and  in  a  corner,  the  deputy  mayor,  an 
infirm  old  man  who  kept  in  the  background. 

"Well,  what  the  deuce  are  you  doing,  Alfred?"  said 
the  doctor. 

The  other  had  got  up,  his  pen  behind  his  ear. 

"Good  heavens,  man!"  continued  my  cousin,  "can't 
you  realise  that  there's  anything  to  be  done?" 

"What  should  there  be?" 

"What  should  there  be?  You  must  send  word  first 
to  La  Ferriere  and  Tarins!" 

Lecomte  tossed  his  head :  ' '  Send  word !  That  would 
mean  a  nice  lot  of  running  about!  They've  had  the 
bells  rung:  it  is  up  to  the  people  to  come  and  find  out 
what  it  is  about. " 

My  cousin  began  to  get  angry: 

"You  idiot,  Alfred.  How  do  you  imagine  they'll 
suspect  anything  of  the  kind!  You  must  send 
Machurot  to  them. " 

25 


26  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  was  the  local  policeman. 

"He'll  be  having  a  drink." 

"AtTronquiere's?" 

"Probably." 

A  boy,  who  stuck  his  nose  in,  was  sent  to  look  for 
him.  My  cousin  undertook  to  draw  up  the  pro- 
clamation destined  for  the  neighbouring  populace. 

He  dashed  it  down  without  any  scratchings  out, 
and  gave  it  to  me  to  run  through. 

' '  Excellent ! "  I  exclaimed. 

Somewhat  pretentious,  it  had  a  great  effect  on  Alfred 
and  the  old  deputy.  The  boy  brought  Machurot  back, 
and  it  was  put  into  his  hands. 

The  old  dog  was  as  drunk  as  a  pig,  but  he  declaimed 
it,  all  the  same,  head-in-air,  scanning  all  the  syllables 
but  breathing  out  of  time.  They  traced  a  detailed 
route  on  the  paper,  for  him,  and  let  him  loose  in  the 
growing  dusk. 

The  news  had  spread.  Peasants  began  to  come  for 
information  on  their  way  home  from  the  fields.  They 
arrived  with  lagging  footsteps. 

"It's  true  we're  going  to  fight?" 

"Rather!" 

Alfred  took  them  to  see  the  telegram,  lit  up  now  by 
a  lantern. 

"Just  look  at  that  and  see  if  it's  nonsense!" 

"When  do  we  leave. " 

"That  depends.  You've  only  got  to  look  at  your 
record  book." 

Those  who  had  gone  on  to  get  it  at  home,  pulled  it 
out,  opened  it,  and  consulted  the  number. 

"The  third  day,"  they  read;  or  "the  second"; 
territorials,  "  the  eleventh. " 

"You'll  get  there  too  late,  old  chap!" 


A  Mountain  Village,  Same  Evening     27 

The  upshot  was  that  each  one  seemed  overjoyed 
or  heart-broken,  according  to  whether  he  would  have 
time  to  get  his  hay  in  or  not. 

Very  few  remarks ;  and  anyhow  not  a  single  grumble. 
My  cousin,  who  forced  himself  to  keep  up  his  cheery 
tone,  met  with  no  echo.  He  could  only  drag  a  few 
disconnected  sentences  out  of  the  broken-down  old 
deputy. 

The  visitors  did  not  linger,  but  soon  turned  on  their 
heels,  their  wooden  pipes  in  their  mouths. 

Lecomte  bustled  and  fussed,  full  of  the  importance 
of  his  part.  As  for  me  I  took  part  in  it  all  as  the 
stranger  I  was,  and  incapable  of  realising  the  tragic 
element  afloat  in  the  air. 

When  the  doctor  wanted  to  go  in,  I  urged  him  to  take 
a  turn  with  me  through  the  village  streets.  I  expected 
at  last  to  come  upon  some  unexpected,  and  unusual 
demonstration.  .  .  .  the  evening  of  mobilisation !  The 
great  evening,  by  Jove !  I  was  disillusioned,  we  met  no 
one  in  the  poorly  lit  streets.  In  the  little  schoolyard 
the  teacher's  son  was  making  figures  of  eight  on  his 
bicycle;  further  on  through  an  open  window,  we  saw 
a  lot  of  farm  hands  sitting  round  a  table,  limp  and 
taciturn,  gorging  themselves  with  soup.  And  the 
usual  frequenters  of  Tronquiere's  "pub"  were  sipping 
their  verre  de  verle  in  silence. 

My  cousin  did  not  rise  much  in  answer  to  my  short 
sentences.  However,  when  I  asked  him : 

"Are  they  patriotic  about  here?" 

"Very,"  he  assured  me.     " You'll  soon  see ! " 

I  objected  diffidently. 

"At  first  sight.    .    .    ." 

"Well?" 

"There's  rather  a  lack  of  enthusiasm." 


28  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Enthusiasm?  It  was  not  wanting  in  the  year  '70! 
They  didn't  know  then  what  a  real  war  was.  They've 
learnt.  In  '71  in  January,  we  saw  what  was  left  of 
Bourbaki's  army  pass  by,  dying  of  hunger  and  cold 
in  the  snow.  We  know  what  beaten  men  are,  and 
that  we  must  not  be  of  their  number.  They  aren't 
going  out  of  light-heartedness,  but  they'll  go  on  till 
death!" 

My  place  was  laid.  We  dined.  The  doctor  was 
grave  and  silent,  and  I  feeble  and  dull.  My  cousin 
was  the  only  one  to  talk,  and  she  overflowed  with 
hikewarm  lamentations.  What  bad-luck  that  Gene- 
vieve  should  have  gone  back  to  Belfort  just  a  week 
before.  Would  she  be  able  to  come  back? 

I  reassured  her  by  saying  that  women  and  children 
would  certainly  be  ejected.  But  her  son-in-law,  the 
Captain?  His  fate  did  not  seem  to  worry  her 
much.  I  remarked  that  he  was  in  the  first  line,  much 
exposed. 

"Of  course!"  she  sighed.  "Hadn't  I  told  them 
often  enough  to  try  not  to  stay  in  the  East!" 

The  doctor  interposed,  declaring  that  it  was  the  most 
honourable  position  for  a  soldier.  Julien  would  most 
certainly  not  complain ! 

He  added,  turning  to  me : 

"Your  brother  runs  an  even  greater  risk!" 

My  brother  Victor!  I  felt  rather  ashamed  of  not 
having  thought  of  him !  A  lieutenant  in  the  infantry 
at  St.  Mihiel,  ten  miles  from  the  frontier.  Hadn't  I 
heard  that  he  could  be  mobilised  in  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  ?  This  detail  which  I  put  before  them,  drew  forth 
shrieks  from  my  cousin.  I  tried  to  picture  Victor  as 
parted  from  his  wife  and  his  little  children,  perhaps 


A  Mountain  Village,  Same  Evening     29 

since  this  afternoon,  perhaps  for  the  last  few  days,  to 
go  towards  the  dark  unknown ....  Seated  at  this 
table,  in  front  of  an  appetising  dish  of  morels,  I  had 
difficulty  in  convincing  myself  of  the  grim  reality. 

In  order  to  rouse  myself,  I  declared : 

"  In  three  days,  it  will  be  my  turn.  " 

"To  do  what?"  asked  my  cousin. 

''Rejoin  my  regiment,  of  course!" 

"  What !    Are  you  going  too  ? " 

She  had  a  dazed  look.  The  doctor  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"Of  course  he's  going!  At  the  age  of  twenty- 
seven!  My  dear  Mathilde,  you  don't  seem  to  have 
any  idea.  ..." 

She  acknowledged  frankly  that  she  did  indeed  under- 
stand nothing ....  But  when  I  had  told  her  again 
that  in  three  days'  time  I  was  going  to  report  myself  at 

F ,  whence  I  should  be  sent  to  fight,  she  seemed 

thunder-struck,  poor  soul!  I  should  never  have  sus- 
pected her  of  being  so  fond  of  me ;  she  had  known  me 
ever  since  I  was  quite  tiny,  and  I  was  the  son  of  her 
poor  lost  Blanche,  one  of  her  own  people,  a  blood  re- 
lation, and  dearer  to  her  than  her  son-in-law,  I  could 
see  .  .  .  she  began  to  bewail  herself,  cursing  the  re- 
lentless fate  against  our  family.  The  doctor  had  to 
cut  it  short,  a  little  sharply: 

"Look  here,  don't  discourage  the  boy!" 

I  was  not  displeased  when  she  stopped  talking;  too 
much  attention  always  worried  me;  moreover  it  oc- 
curred to  me — a  false,  but  unpleasant  impression — 
that  I  was  making  an  unfair  appeal  to  her  compassion. 

During  dessert,  while  my  uncle  was  uncorking  a 
bottle  of  wine,  I  studied  the  railway-guide.  The 
6 150  train  ought  to  get  me  to  Paris  at  four  o'clock,  but 


3Q  Ordeal  by  Fire 

the  time-tables  would  probably  all  be  upset.  It  would 
be  wiser  to  be  at  the  station  from  six  o'clock  onwards, 
and  to  wait. 

My  cousin  sympathised: 

"  You'll  have  to  be  up  very  early. " 

We  drank  to  the  health  of  our  relations  with  much 
feeling;  examining  myself  stealthily  in  a  looking-glass, 
I  decided — I  was  a  little  heated — that  I  already  had 
a  martial  air  about  me. 

"Are  you  a  corporal,  anyhow?"  the  doctor  asked 
me. 

"Sergeant." 

Half -past  eight  struck,  I  got  up. 

"Oh!  how  I  should  like  to  pack  for  you!"  said  my 
cousin. 

We  embraced.  They  entrusted  me  with  many 
friendly  messages  for  my  father,  whom  they  had  not 
seen  for  ten  years,  and  went  with  me  as  far  as  the 
railings,  where  the  last  farewells  were  said. 

As  I  went  away,  I  heard  the  doctor  murmur: 

"The  beginning  of  the  bad  times." 

And  my  cousin : 

"Poor  boy!" 

These  words  bore  me  company.  I  thought  invol- 
untarily that  in  this  separation  from  people  who  loved 
me,  and  perhaps  the  only  ones  who  loved  me,  there 
must  be  something  deep  and  heartrending,  of  which 
I  was  still  unconscious,  but  which  one  day  would  fill 
me  with  emotion. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   MEDITATION   AT  THE  WINDOW 

I  CLAMBERED  down  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and 
then  walked  quickly  along  the  road  to  Ballaigues. 
The  night  was  serene.  A  dog  was  howling  in  the 
valley,  a  harsh  bark  which  sufficed  to  hold  my 
attention. 

It  was  only  when  I  had  got  back  on  to  Swiss  terri- 
tory that  I  thought  of  the  risk  I  had  run  of  being 
arrested  as  a  deserter. 

I  had  cut  through  the  woods.  Dead  branches 
cracked  under  my  feet.  I  crushed  a  glow  worm.  At 
last  I  made  out  the  hotel  lights.  My  heart  bounded 
when  I  reached  it,  I  don't  know  what  I  expected. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  corner  of  the  terrace  where 
we  generally  gossiped,  the  Landrys  and  I.  I  bowed  to 
the  old  Portuguese  ladies  who  were  enjoying  the  evening 
air.  From  the  hall  I  saw  the  English  installed  phleg- 
matically  at  their  poker  table  in  the  smoking-room. 
A  solemn  and  inscrutable  waiter  passed  me,  carrying 
a  tea  tray.  Nothing  abnormal  struck  me.  I  wondered 
whether  they  knew. 

I  went  down  on  to  the  terrace  again.  A  silhouette 
rose  from  the  shadows.  By  the  light  of  his  cigar, 
I  recognised  Cipollina. 

"  Well ! "  he  called  to  me,  "what  do  you  say  to  that  ? " 


32  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"I  can't  believe  it  yet!" 

In  so  saying  I  ingeniously  betrayed  my  dominant 
feeling. 

He  offered  me  a  cigarette,  and  said  quickly : 

"Shall  we  take  a  turn?" 

I  was  going  to  agree  to  doing  so  when  I  suddenly 
thought  of  my  preparations ;  and  I  was  seized  with  the 
vain  idea  of  guarding  against  future  fatigue. 

"Thanks,"  I  said,  "I've  got  my  packing  to  do. 
What  about  you?" 

I  understood  him  to  say  he  had  finished.  I  con- 
tinued: 

"Are  you  going  by  my  train?" 

"What  train?" 

"The  6:50,  if  it  still  exists.    The  Paris  Express." 

He  was  silent. 

"Are  you  going  to  rejoin  soon?" 

He  shook  his  head  abruptly  and  exclaimed: 

"Not  I!" 

I  looked  at  him;  I  understood.  He  went  on  in  an 
aggressive  tone: 

"You  won't  catch  me  going  to  be  knocked  on  the 
head,  when  I've  the  luck  to  be  out  of  it!  And  you, 
are  you  itching  for  it,  Dreher?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going  back, "  I  said. 

"Well,  well!  And  I  thought  you  so  emancipated!" 

He  went  on  ironically.  He  only  had  one  skin,  and  he 
meant  to  stick  to  it;  he  hadn't  the  slightest  desire  to 
fight  for  Serbia,  as  I  was  saying  just  now.  .  .  .  No, 
it  was  astounding!  A  nice  mess  our  diplomatists  must 
have  made  of  it !  .  .  .  All  the  more  so  since,  as  we 
suspected  nothing,  we  naturally  were  not  ready !  And 
so  it  meant  catastrophe!  .  .  .  We  were  going  to 
get  a  licking! 


A  Meditation  at  the  Window       33 

He  ended  by  taking  me  by  the  arm: 

"Come  along  and  have  a  smoke  and  then  we  can 
chat." 

"No,"   I  said  decidedly.     "I'm  going  up  again." 

"In  that  case,  my  dear  fellow,  good-bye." 

"Au  revoir." 

j"0h!  there's  not  much  chance  of  our  ever  meeting 
again!" 

Was  it  the  effect  of  these  banal  remarks?  Hardly 
had  I  regained  my  room  and  gone  to  lean  my  elbows  on 
the  rail  of  the  balcony  than  I  felt  as  if  crushed  by  the 
revelation  I  had  witnessed  during  the  last  three  hours. 

A  formidable  adventure  was  in  the  making  and  my 
part  as  a  finite  being  was  to  consider  it  as  a  spectator. 
The  things  I  was  saying  just  now,  without  attaching 
any  definite  meaning  to  them  appeared  to  me  clothed 
suddenly  in  their  imperious  significance:  Yes,  in  three 

days  I  should  be  at  F ,  in  four  my  rifle  and  my 

outfit  would  have  been  handed  over  to  me,  shortly 
afterwards  I  should  be  entrained.  .  .  .  Here  the 
vision  lost  its  clearness;  only  a  few  concise  pictures 
rose  from  a  sombre  haze:  marches  and  counter 
marches,  the  bleeding  feet,  the  exhaustion,  the  cold, 
the  filthy  promiscuousness,  nothing  to  eat;  and 
then  one  day  the  battle;  not  an  entertaining  en- 
gagement like  those  during  manoeuvres,  interrupted 
towards  n  A.M.  by  the  bugle  call,  but  the  grim 
struggle,  glued  to  the  ground  advancing  foot  by 
foot,  day  after  day  and  night  after  night,  against  an 
invisible  opponent,  desperate,  superior  in  discipline 
and  in  numbers,  armed  with  frightful  machines  .  .  . 
the  whistle  of  the  bullet,  the  explosion  of  the  shells.  .  .  ! 
And  one  morning,  in  some  hole  or  corner,  an  obscure 
and  crushing  death . 


34  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Presentiments  were  unknown  to  me:  I  suddenly 
believed  in  them.  I  saw  myself  killed,  it  was  all  over 
and  done  with  my  career  as  a  man,  this  life  I  had  been 
pleased  to  order  so  ingenuously.  The  horror  of  the 
annihilation  so  near  at  hand  suffocated  me . 

I  breathed  the  scented  night  air  like  a  drowning  man. 
At  my  feet  was  the  dark  terrace,  a  servant  had  just  cut 
off  the  electricity.  I  heard  the  gravel  crunching  be- 
neath a  footstep.  A  shadow  ascended  the  steps.  It 
must  be  Cipollina. 

His  words  echoed  in  my  ears,  his  "Not  much!"  I 
was  suddenly  seized  with  fury  against  him — the 
coward ! — a  fury  which  was  almost  immediately  turned 
against  myself.  Was  it  not  his  conduct  that  was 
logical.  He  refused  to  sacrifice  himself.  He  coldly 
applied  his  Doctrine,  our  Doctrine,  of  calm  selfishness. 
I  fumed  to  see  this  shopkeeper,  this  table  d'hdte 
philosopher,  superior  in  practical  wisdom  to  myself, 
when  I  had  ruminated  my  system  for  so  long,  and 
looked  at  it  from  every  point  of  view. 

Why  did  I  not  imitate  him?  I  upbraided  myself 
harshly  on  my  lack  of  rational  courage.  For  since  I 
was  the  enemy  of  sentimental  chimeras !  .  .  .  What 
could  I  believe  in?  Nothing,  nothing!  Duty,  Hon- 
our, the  Ideal  ?  They  were  so  many  hollow  sounds  to 
me.  Patriotism?  No  word  was  more  foreign  to  me. 
I  too  was  a  Citizen  of  the  World !  The  chauvinism  of 
my  father,  a  native  of  Lorraine,  and  an  old  soldier, 
seemed  to  me  out-of-date,  an  ill-omened  and  ridiculous 
passion ;  in  that,  as  in  everything  else,  I  was  so  little  his 
son.  As  far  back  as  I  could  remember,  I  had  never  es- 
poused his  craze  for  war  and  revenge.  In  former  days 
when  we  used  to  spend  our  holidays  at  Ebermenil,  some 
miles  from  the  frontier,  nothing  irritated  me  so  much 


A  Meditation  at  the  Window        35 

when  quite  a  child,  as  to  feel  how  immovable  the  people 
were  in  their  wild  enmity  against  their  neighbour. 
They  never  opened  their  mouths  without  making  in- 
solent or  dangerous  remarks;  they  never  dreamt,  it 
appeared,  except  of  bringing  back  a  cursed  year. 
Why  this  rancour?  As  if  it  ought  not  to  have  satis- 
fied them  to  continue  to  be  Frenchmen  themselves? 
What  did  it  matter  to  them  that  their  brothers  from 
the  neighbouring  villages  should  have  changed  their 
name.  Were  the  former  more  unhappy  than  the 
latter?  My  handbooks  of  history  were  full  of  ex- 
changes of  this  kind,  carried  out  without  any  one  re- 
belling against  them. 

Grown  older,  I  had  only  strengthened,  by  reasoning, 
my  instinctive  indifference  in  regard  to  the  fate  of  the 
Lost  Provinces.  I  had  gone  one  better;  what  a  high 
doctrine,  I  thought,  was  that  of  Internationalism! 
And  convenient,  too.  I  should  have  declared  myself 
its  adherent  quite  openly,  but  for  my  systematic  slack- 
ness, my  fear  of  committing  myself.  The  result  was 
that  I  took  an  interest  in  those  theories  which  denied 
that  there  was  any  meaning  in  the  term  Fatherland. 

I  happened  to  find  in  them  the  subject  for  some 
daring  developments,  with  which  during  even  the  last 
few  days,  I  had  taken  a  delight  in  upsetting  Jeannine 
Landry's  convictions. 

Germany,  especially,  inspired  me  with  no  enmity; 
on  the  contrary,  I  had  a  weakness  for  the  genius  of  her 
philosophers  and  musicians.  Two  years  ago  I  had 
travelled  in  the  country,  and  had  stayed  at  lena  for 
three  weeks  with  one  of  my  friends,  a  lecturer  at  the 
university.  We  had  wandered  together  in  the  Thur- 
ingian  forests,  and  slept,  rolled  in  our  cloaks,  at  the  top 
of  the  Schnee-Kopf.  How  could  one  fail  to  be  won 


36  Ordeal  by  Fire 

over  by  those  glorious  surroundings.  As  for  the  men 
over  there  ...  I  had  pleasant  recollections  of  a  few 
merry  shooting  friends,  one  named  Kroemer  among 
others.  If  they  had  not  appealed  to  me  as  a  whole, 
did  any  one  by  any  chance  imagine  that  I  cherished 
the  slighest  sympathy  for  the  millions  of  beings — ugly, 
vain,  and  unintelligent — who  made  up  the  great  ma- 
jority of  the  nation  which  was  mine  by  birth.  In  Paris 
it  was  true  that,  within  a  restricted  circle,  I  experi- 
enced certain  satisfactions  which  I  should  hardly  have 
relished  anywhere  else.  But,  when  finally  analysed, 
even  these  delights  did  not  amount  to  very  much! 
They  comprised  the  one  real  benefit  which  I  owed  to 
my  position  as  a  Frenchman.  In  order  to  assure  the 
continuation  of  this  advantage — and  what,  after  all, 
did  it  amount  to — it  was  agreed  that  I  should  sacrifice 
my  one  irretrievable  treasure,  my  life. 

You  can  see  with  what  a  decision  I  seemed  to  be 
faced,  but  oddly  enough  my  revolt  continued  to  be 
purely  theoretical  and  abstract.  Not  for  an  instant 
did  it  seem  to  me  possible  or  within  my  power  to  take 
the  line  simply  of  ignoring  the  fact  that  my  country 
was  mobilising.  I  saw  myself  as  the  conscious  victim 
of  a  superior  fatality;  I  knew  that  I  should  take  the 
6:50  train  next  day,  that  I  should  be  at  the  Chanzy 
barracks  before  ten  o'clock  on  Tuesday! 

But  that  did  not  prevent  me  from  cursing  at  fate. 
Tired  of  grumbling  at  myself,  I  consigned  to  perdition 
the  instigators  of  the  war.  Spite  blinded  me;  I  kept 
on  revolving  most  bitter,  and  I  must  admit,  most  un- 
just reflections.  Yes,  as  Cipollina  had  said;  what  an 
accumulation  of  mistakes!  For  a  long  while  back. 
It  was  all  very  well  to  say  that  Germany  wanted  war ; 
was  preparing  for  it!  During  the  last  few  years  per- 


A  Meditation  at  the  Window        37 

haps.  But  had  there  not  been  a  time  when  she  had 
made  advances  to  us?  We  had  always  refused  to 
make  friends,  and  had  kept  our  eyes  fixed  stolidly  on 
the  Frankfort  Treaty  in  which  we  pretended  to  see  the 
one  and  only  source  of  all  our  ills. 

Our  policy,  of  late,  had  become  more  captious. 
There  had  been  a  series  of  clumsy  manifestos,  an  awak- 
ening, which  one  could  not  shut  one's  eyes  to,  of  the  old 
swashbuckling,  nationalistic,  and  chauvinistic  spirit. 
What  countless  occurrences,  speeches,  and  articles  had 
gone  towards  the  making  of  a  dangerous  state  of  exal- 
tation. Anything  rather  than  a  humiliating  peace! 
Anything?  That  meant  war.  Oh  well,  they'd  got  it. 
They'd  soon  see! 

What  exasperated  me  more  than  anything  was  to 
think  of  all  those  who  had  done  or  allowed  everything 
to  be  done,  the  ministers,  ambassadors,  and  delegates 
who  in  history  would  bear  a  part,  however  insignifi- 
cant, in  the  terrible  responsibility.  They  were  all,  or 
nearly  all,  over  the  age  limit;  they  need  have  no  fear 
for  their  skins ;  it  was  the  others,  me  and  men  of  my 
generation,  the  youth  between  twenty  and  thirty 
years  of  age,  whom,  with  high-flown  words  and  light 
hearts,  they  would  send  to  the  slaughter! 

But  it  was  necessary  to  pack.  I  fulfilled  this  task 
with  such  mechanical  precision  that  it  calmed  me. 
When  I  had  finished  I  went  out  on  to  the  balcony 
again  in  my  shirt  sleeves. 

A  crescent  moon  had  just  risen.  A  green  mountain- 
side opposite  me,  at  the  other  side  of  the  cutting  which 
terminated,  I  imagined,  in  the  ravaged  gorges  of  the 
Orbe,  was  bathed  in  her  light.  Vaguely  phosphores- 
cent fields  lay  soaked  in  a  milky  whiteness.  Spreading 


38  Ordeal  by  Fire 

brown  forests  quivered  softly.  Half-way  up  fires  were 
shining,  the  factory  and  station  at  Brassus.  I  ad- 
mired the  bold  sweep  and  the  contour  of  the  Dent  de 
Vaulion  on  the  right.  Farther  on  in  the  distance  a 
series  of  mountain  ridges,  forming  a  circle,  were  in- 
dicated, bluish  and  pale  beneath  the  halo. 

My  brow  was  cooling  again.  In  the  contemplation 
of  this  veiled  and  unreal  scene  my  thoughts  insensibly 
freed  themselves  of  sinister  obsessions. 

What  made  me  call  to  mind  a  very  insignificant 
incident  in  this  day  fertile  in  shocks,  that  moment  on 
the  road  when  I  had  passed  in  review  the  joys  for 
which  I  lived  ?  The  obscure  feeling  of  distress  which 
had  made  me  stop  talking  recaptured  me.  I  again 
experienced  the  sensation  that  everything  was  dismal, 
but  at  the  same  time  was  there  not  something  which 
might  be  called  an  unexpected  hope  rising  within  me  ? 
What  hope?  I  caught  it,  and  questioned  it.  Was  it 
not  of  new  days  when  I  should  perhaps  shake  myself 
free  of  the  torpor  where  I  languished? 

Halloa!  I  jeered.  Was  I  too  lending  a  hand  in  the 
resurrection  of  the  warlike  instinct  legitimate  in  the 
son  of  the  soldier  who  was  in  the  charge  at  Rezdnville, 
in  the  grandson  of  the  man  who  had  commanded  a 
regiment  at  Magenta?  No.no:  I  acquitted  myself  of 
that ;  such  wild  intoxication  was  quite  alien  to  me.  The 
most  I  might  admit  was  that  my  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  future  with  a  greater  interest,  that  curiosity  made 
my  resignation  easier. 

I  let  my  imagination  run  away  with  me.  Turning 
successively  towards  the  two  horizons,  I  imagined  I 
saw,  beyond  the  mountains,  the  vastness  of  the  two 
hostile  territories  where  since  to-night  so  many  forces 
were  being  lavished  in  the  elaboration  of  the  battles 


A  Meditation  at  the  Window       39 

where  they  would  devour  each  other  to-morrow;  a 
gigantic  sheaf  of  hatred  and  lust,  but  also  of  devotion 
and  heroism  which  had  just  burst  into  flame! 

Midnight  struck.  My  exaltation  dwindled;  at  all 
events,  I  was  not  sorry,  I  thought,  to  have  been  equal 
to  the  emergency  if  only  for  a  moment. 

I  went  down  to  give  the  hall-porter  orders  to  wake  me 
at  five  o'clock,  he  was  to  have  my  bill  ready,  and  I 
should  expect  a  cab  to  be  there  for  my  luggage.  In 
crossing  the  lounge  I  came  upon  the  three  Englishmen 
who  were  leaving  the  card-room.  We  had  never 
exchanged  a  word,  or  a  nod;  I  thought  them  ignorant 
of  our  language.  I  was  going  straight  past  them,  when 
the  one  who  was  walking  in  front,  a  big,  fair  man,  who 
looked  an  athlete  in  his  smoking-jacket,  stopped  right 
in  front  of  me. 

"Good  luck  to  your  country,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you." 

I  mechanically  held  out  my  hand,  which  he  shook 
hard. 

His  two  companions  did  likewise. 

I  went  upstairs  again,  feeling  rather  touched.  Up 
there  my  scepticism  got  the  upper  hand  again.  I 
thought. 

Will  they  stick  to  us,  I  wonder. 

An  amusing  idea  occurred  to  me,  of  sending  a  post- 
card to  the  little  Landry  girl  to  tell  her  of  the  incident. 
I  took  up  a  pen,  but  while  doing  so  it  struck  me  that 
the  girl  would  not  see  anything  very  funny  about  it. 
Sentimentalise  ...  no  thanks!  I  scrawled  a  few 
lines  for  her  without  mentioning  the  occurrence. 


BOOK  II 
August  2nd-jrd 


CHAPTER  VI 
I  GO  BACK   BY  TRAIN 

IT  is  easy  to  imagine  the  influx  of  Frenchmen,  hurry- 
ing in  from  ten  miles  round,  at  Vallorbes  station  that 
morning,  the  second  of  August;  the  procession  of 
omnibuses,  the  piles  of  trunks,  the  pack  of  distracted 
families  overrunning  the  waiting-rooms,  crowding 
round  the  ticket  offices,  demanding  directions  and 
details  which  no  one  could  possibly  have  given  them. 

The  express,  which  turned  up  at  the  usual  time,  was 
taken  by  storm.  When  would  it  get  to  Paris?  They 
would  guarantee  nothing  as  to  that. 

I  had  the  luck  to  find  myself  a  place  as  eighth  in 
a  second-class  carriage.  Opposite  me  two  old  maids 
never  stopped  talking,  in  a  whisper,  probably  about 
everything  on  earth  but  the  news  of  the  day.  A 
bourgeois  couple  with  a  crew  of  sulky  children  argued 
for  hours  about  opening  the  windows. 

There  was  a  minute  inspection  of  the  baggage  at 
the  Pontarlier  custom-house.  Nothing  occurred.  We 
got  back  into  the  train.  The  speed  was  fast  until 
Dole;  there  we  slowed  down  noticeably. 

40 


I  Go  Back  by  Train  41 

There  was  a  long  stop  at  Dijon.  The  station  already 
seemed  to  be  under  military  occupation.  Very  few 
civilians  on  the  platforms,  but  behind  the  gates,  the 
murmur  of  a  crowd  come  for  news,  kept  back  by  sen- 
tries with  fixed  bayonets. 

The  news-seller,  despoiled  of  her  wares,  was  hawking 
round  nothing  but  some  illustrated  comic  and  sporting 
papers;  I  bought  two  or  three  from  her,  but  did  not 
read  them. 

We  left  Dijon  towards  eleven  o'clock.  From  there 
onwards,  mad  rushes,  sudden  stoppages,  and  breathless 
progress,  alternated. 

Laroche  at  last. 

There,  the  Paris  papers  had  just  arrived.  We  threw 
ourselves  upon  them.  I  managed  to  get  one.  I  was 
surrounded  at  once.  People  squashed  up  against  me 
to  get  at  least  a  glimpse  of  the  stop-press  and  head  lines. 
I  was  not  very  accommodating  about  exhibiting  my 
paper,  and  I  soon  succeeded  in  shaking  them  off,  and 
getting  back  to  my  carriage. 

The  train  started  off  again. 

Standing  up  in  the  corridor,  I  admit  that  I  read  and 
re-read  the  leading  article  without  skipping  a  single  line. 

I  expected  a  good  leader  and  was  not  disappointed. 
I  relished  the  indispensable  paragraph  on  the  past  and 
future  of  France,  on  the  sacred  union  in  face  of  the 
enemy. 

My  neighbour  nudged  me  with  his  elbow. 

"Oh!    Isn't  it  just  what  everyone  is  thinking?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

Exact  information  was  what  I  really  thirsted  for. 
I  remember  two  headlines:  "  To-morrow ? "  and  "A 
Day  at  the  Quai  d'Orsay."  In  a  prominent  position 
the  President's  Proclamation.  The  article  was  a 


42  Ordeal  by  Fire 

success:  the  obvious  thing  to  say.  "Mobilisation 
is  not  war. "  But  there  was  no  mistaking  it ;  the  spark 
had  caught,  the  fire  was  already  crackling. 

I  learnt  the  news  of  the  preceding  days,  including 
the  assassination  of  Jaures,  merely  from  allusions — to 
me  they  were  so  many  claps  of  thunder ! 

One  main  point  stood  out:  Germany's  declaration 
of  war  on  Russia.  Like  a  shot  France  was  dragged  in, 
automatically.  A  well-laid  scheme  on  the  part  of  the 
Wilhelmstrasse.  The  odious  article  from  the  Cologne 
Gazette  which  was  reproduced  everywhere  had  been  a 
final  eye-opener. 

One  amusing  detail :  Heive*  asking  to  be  allowed  to  go ! 
Another  rather  shocked  me :  Telegrams  from  various 
places  on  "the  Enthusiasm  in  the  Provinces.  .  .  .  " 
I  had  just  come  from  the  provinces ! 

I  had  finished  reading.  It  was  evident  that  my 
neighbour  was  dying  to  talk.  Feeling  charitably  dis- 
posed I  gave  him  an  opening.  In  five  minutes  I  had 
learnt  all  there  was  to  know  about  his  antecedents,  his 
family,  and  his  profession.  He  had  passed  his  legal 
examinations,  taking  the  degree  of  licentiate,  and  was 
the  son  of  a  lawyer.  He  was  coming  back  from  Autun, 
the  home  of  his  maternal  grandfather.  What  times  we 
were  living  through,  sir!  The  day  before  when  the 
official  telegram  had  arrived,  ah,  what  enthusiasm  there 
had  been;  I  ought  to  have  seen  the  factory  hands  rush- 
ing out  shouting:  "To  the  front! " 

"You  saw  them  then?" 

"Oh  no,  I  didn't!" 

He  had  read  this  description  in  the  Memorial 
d' Autun. 

He  asked  me  childish  questions  about  our  chances, 
and  the  schemes  at  headquarters. 


I  Go  Back  by  Train  43 

I  sententiously  put  forward  the  idea  of  an  offensive 
in  Alsace.  He  jumped  at  it. 

"To  take  the  offensive.  Yes,  yes.  That  was  the 
only  thing  to  be  done. " 

He  had  not  many  brains.  It  did  not  take  him  three 
minutes  to  regain  the  Lost  Provinces. 

He  confided  in  me  that  he  too  was  a  noncommis- 
sioned officer  in  the  reserves,  attached  to  the  74th 
Rouens.  He  was  to  rejoin  the  next  day.  He  asked 
my  name,  and  gave  me  his  address.  He  offered  me  his 
friendship  as  a  brother-in-arms.  I  was  tempted  to  be 
touched  by  the  thought  that  here  was  one  of  the  young 
men  of  my  own  age,  who  would  fight,  and  perhaps  fall, 
at  my  side  on  the  plains  of  Lorraine.  But  my  scep- 
ticism and  coldness  offered  too  strong  a  resistance,  and 
when  I  heard  him  exclaim:  "  If  we've  got  to  be  killed, 
we've  got  to  be,  and  that's  all  about  it ! "  my  indignation 
was  aroused.  Sincere!  He  was  sincere  enough;  a 
puppet  who  came  near  to  being  a  hero !  There  were 
such  beings,  incapable  of  reasoning  for  themselves, 
always  ready  to  set  out  to  fight  for  never  mind  which 
side.  Yesterday  for  the  Church.  To-day  for  the  State. 
To-morrow  for  some  social  chimera.  If  it  had  only 
been  themselves  they  disposed  of!  .  .  .  But  they 
were  in  the  majority,  it  was  they  who  oppressed  us. 

Much  irritated,  I  wickedly  said  to  myself:  "Let  him 
sell  his  life  cheaply!  It  certainly  isn't  worth  much!" 

I  escaped  from  him  and  gained  a  distant  door, 
whither  he  did  not  follow  me. 

Our  journey  was  drawing  to  an  end.  The  train  had 
put  on  speed .  With  shrieks  of  pride  and  whirling  smoke 
and  sparks,  our  powerful  engine  dragged  us  towards  the 
City,  the  huge  magnet  which,  at  this  time  was  rallying 
so  many  friendly  forces.  The  intoxication  of  this  attrac- 


44  Ordeal  by  Fire 

tion  made  itself  felt  twenty  kilometres  away.  The  six- 
fold rails  gleamed  in  the  sun  on  the  sand  embankments. 
We  thundered  along,  without  slackening  our  speed, 
through  the  suburb  stations,  whose  names  were  slurred 
by  our  haste.  Crowds  of  people  huddled  together  on  the 
platforms,  gazed  at  us  in  respectful  silence.  Maisons- 
Alfort,  Charenton.  We  went  ahead  of  ten  trains 
which  were  crawling  along  the  side  lines,  and  speeding 
up  their  connecting-rods  in  vain.  Smoke  darkened  the 
air.  We  passed  by  high  houses,  grimy  with  soot,  whose 
windows,  where  the  washing  was  put  out  to  dry  over- 
hung our  cutting.  Then  came  the  metallic  crash  of  the 
double  bridge  flung  across  the  rivers  where  they  join, 
— the  moat  outside  the  walls — Paris!  We  were  in 
Paris ! 

I  was  thrilled  with  excitement.  Capital  of  the  civil- 
ised world,  head  of  a  great  nation  at  war!  From 
here  had  leaped  out  the  old  call  to  arms!  Leaning 
out,  I  tried  to  distinguish  beyond  the  line  of  railway- 
carriages,  sidings  and  signal-boxes,  in  the  streets  skirt- 
ing the  line,  in  the  avenues  we  crossed  on  heavy  iron 
bridges,  the  residents,  and  passers-by,  all  those  who 
had  just  lived  through  such  rousing  hours  here. 

I  was  impatient  to  mingle  with  them. 


CHAPTER  VII 

PARIS,    AT  FIRST   SIGHT 

RUE  D'ASSAS.  My  concierge  came  out  when  she 
heard  the  taxi  draw  up. 

"We  were  expecting  you,  Mr.  Dreher;  I  was  sayin' 
as  much  to  my  'usband,  only  a  minute  ago. " 

The  man  himself  appeared.  In  his  capacity  as 
handyman  he  hoisted  my  heavy  trunk  on  to  his  shoul- 
der, as  if  it  were  a  plaything. 

"And  when  may  you  be  going,  Mr.  Dreher?" 

"The  day  after  to-morrow,  and  what  about  you?" 

"A  week  on  Wednesday. " 

"So  there  we  are!"  I  said. 

"There  we  are!  as  you  say,  sir.  It  was  bound  to 
finish  like  this. " 

My  char- woman  had  had  the  happy  inspiration  of 
coming  to  do  some  cleaning  that  morning,  so  I  found 
my  flat  in  order  and  well  aired.  Having  made  a  hasty 
toilet,  I  thought  of  various  important  errands. 

I  had  kept  my  taxi,  luckily  for  me  as  the  motor- 
omnibuses  were  no  longer  running. 

It  was  five  o'clock.  I  went  to  the  Rue  des  Beaux- 
Arts  first.  My  father  was  not  at  home,  so  I  left  word 
with  the  old  parlour-maid  that  I  would  be  there  for 
dinner  that  evening. 

Many  wants  led  me  to  a  big  shop.     Nothing  safer  I 
45 


46  Ordeal  by  Fire 

thought  than  to  buy  one's  outfit  oneself.  I  was  lucky 
enough  to  find  what  I  wanted  quickly,  even  in  the  boot 
line,  where  a  crowd  of  people  were  being  fitted. 

Having  finished  my  shopping,  I  called  to  my  chauf- 
feur: 

"RueduHelder!" 

At  the  head  office  of  the  "Abyssinian  Railway 
Company"  my  director  welcomed  me  with  open  arms: 

"My  dear  fellow!  You're  going?  Oh,  I  thought 
as  much !  Rather  rough  on  us !  Duroty  is  going  too. 
The  best  men,  of  course!  I  wonder  whether  we 
shan't  have  to  shut  up  shop. " 

"And  out  there?    How's  the  work  getting  on  there?" 

"Oh,  well  .  .  .  it's  just  got  to  go  on.  The  work- 
men are  natives.  The  engineers  are  the  trouble .... 
Of  course  I  ought  to  have  had  more  sense  and  taken 
Englishmen!" 

I  went  straight  from  there  to  the  bank.  It  was  shut. 
They  were  not  seeing  any  one.  Luckily  Forgues,  my 
stockbroker,  hooked  me  as  I  was  parleying  in  the  wait- 
ing-room, and  made  me  come  in. 

He  seemed  to  have  collapsed  completely;  there 
must  be  bad  news,  I  could  drag  nothing  out  of  him, 
as  he  sat  there  in  his  mole  skin  arm-chair,  but  vague 
allusions,  and  an  estimate,  which  was  by  the  way 
entirely  incorrect,  of  the  financial  resources  of  the 
two  parties  concerned.  Germany  had  no  reserve  of 
gold.  If  we  could  hold  out  for  two  or  three  months ! 

"Are  you  going  to  fight?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  no,  no !  Since  the  Agadir  business,  you  know, 
.  .  .  my  wife's  one  idea  has  been  to  get  me  put  on 
half-pay.  I  thought  it  awful  rot,  but  as  my  heart  is  a 
bit  weak  .  .  .  my  doctor  has  given  me  a  certificate ; 
I've  been  to  see  a  surgeon-major;  no  difficulties  were 


Paris,  at  First  Sight  47 

made  about  it .  .  .  .  And  by  Jove  it's  lucky  for  me 
now!  ....  And  what  about  you?  You're  not 
going,  I  suppose. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!" 

He  seemed  surprised.  He  had  just  seen  several  of  his 
clients — Well,  I  was  the  first.  .  .  . 

Feeling  irritated,  I  cut  him  short  with:  "Can  you 
let  me  have  a  certain  sum  on  account?" 

"Oh,  but  there's  the  moratorium .    .    .    .  " 

Somewhat  embarrassed,  he  entered  into  explanations 
which  I  listened  to  with  raised  eyebrows: 

"To  an  old  client  like  myself!" 

After  renewed  hesitation,  he  made  up  his  mind:  Well, 
let's  see,  would  you  need  a  large  sum? 

"No,  let's  say  forty  pounds." 

"Not  more  than  that?" 

"A  little  gold,  if  possible." 

I  had  had  time,  in  two  hours,  to  notice  how  scarce 
the  yellow  metal  was. 

Forgues  raised  his  hands:  That  was  impossible, 
quite  impossible!  I  wouldn't  get  it  anywhere! 
Nobody  would  part  with  it ! 

I  persisted.  He  was  a  good  sort  at  the  bottom! 
Was  it  my  (unique  !  !  !)  position  as  a  man  about 
to  be  mobilised,  which  melted  him?  He  ended  by 
handing  over  fifteen  louis  to  me. 

I  thanked  him  warmly  and  we  shook  hands. 

"And  mind  you  don't  get  killed!" 

He  spoke  of  it  lightly.  My  gratitude  ceased 
promptly. 

I  suddenly  bore  him  a  desperate  grudge  for  having 
coolly  evaded  the  great  blood  tax. 

I  put  in  an  hour,  dawdling  about.  I  bought  an 
evening  paper.  There  was  nothing  startling  in  it 


48  Ordeal  by  Fire 

unless  it  was  M.  de  Schoen's  last  visit  to  the  Quai 
d'Orsay,  but  not  even  the  most  inveterate  optimists 
could  any  longer  suggest  that  there  was  the  faint- 
est glimmer  of  hope.  One  article  signed  "A  Mili- 
tary Attache"  interested  me.  It  was  a  study  on 
the  probable  forced  attack,  dear  to  the  German 
heart,  through  Belgium,  towards  the  source  of  the 
Oise.  It  explained  how  the  enemy,  if  successful  in 
getting  so  far,  would  be  only  ten  days'  march  from 
Paris. 

I  walked  on  absent-mindedly,  crumpling  the  paper 
in  my  hand.  Ten  days'  march.  It  looked  rather  as 
if  they  were  preparing  the  public  for  what  was  to 
come !  We  had  so  little  protection,  it  was  true,  against 
the  danger  which  threatened  to  swoop  down  upon  us 
from  the  North.  Was  the  City  destined,  a  few  weeks 
hence,  to  undergo  the  horrors  and  humiliation  of  a 
new  siege.  How  quickly  my  mind  was  overwhelmed 
by  baleful  visions  born  of  the  Fatal  Year. 

I  pulled  myself  up.  Steady  on !  We  were  only  just 
beginning. 

Never  mind !  The  resemblance  between  yesterday 
and  to-day  obtruded  itself  upon  my  mind.  A  compar- 
ison which  ought  to  have  been  all  in  favour  of  the 
present.  There  had  been  no  lack  of  speeches  and  ar- 
ticles extolling  the  revival  of  our  energies  for  some 
years  past.  Was  it  real  or  imaginary?  What  an  op- 
portunity it  was  to  audit  that?  Not  in  connection 
with  myself.  I  deliberately  set  myself  aside.  But  in 
the  great  bulk  of  people;  it  was  on  them  that  our  fate 
hung. 

Well,  I  was  only  partially  reassured  on  this  point. 

I  think  I  should  have  preferred  to  see  a  tide  of 
humanity  sweeping  along  the  avenues  as  in  July  of  the 


Paris,  at  First  Sight  49 

year  '70;  to  a  rasping  accompaniment  of  "Berlin!  I 
To  Berlin!" 

Cheek,  of  course,  but  heroic  cheek,  and  proof  of  the 
warmness  of  their  hearts. 

While  to-day !  People  were  wandering  about,  plenty 
of  them,  it's  true,  standing  in  front  of  the  posters, 
theatres,  and  picture  palaces,  thronging  the  open-air 
cafes,  but  you  might  have  thought  they  had  come  out 
on  this  summer  evening  solely  for  the  sake  of  enjoying 
a  breath  of  the  mild  air.  They  talked  quietly  among 
themselves  as  they  walked  up  and  down,  or  read  the 
papers  with  an  air  of  distrustful  wisdom,  perfectly 
well  aware  that  they  were  not  being  told  everything. 
One  might  have  imagined  oneself  back  in  the  days  of 
the  floods  of  1910,  when  the  Parisian  public  would 
learn  with  apparent  indifference  that  such  and  such  a 
quarter  of  their  city  was  threatened  with  extinction. 

An  irritating  attitude  in  a  crowd,  at  a  time  when — 
now  or  never — it  should  have  been  moved,  uplifted, 
carried  away  by  great  inspirations.  Who  would 
believe  that  I  asked  myself  in  all  seriousness  if  France 
must  be  despaired  of,  if  our  country  had  not  come  to 
such  a  pass  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to 
strike  her  off  the  map  of  Europe,  the  victim  as  Hellas 
was  of  yore,  of  her  excess  of  philosophy .  .  .  .  ?  This 
idea  was  distasteful  to  me .  .  .  .  But  still!  If  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  resign  ourselves !  We 
should  go  and  start  life  again  elsewhere,  in  some  free 
country  like  America.  .  .  .  Those  who  got  out  alive  I 
I  still  hoped  to  be  among  them. 

The  thought  also  crossed  my  mind  that  we  were  tak- 
ing part  in  a  renewal  of  the  hardy  and  unassuming,  the 
gay  and  tranquil  qualities,  which  were  the  attributes  of 
our  race ....  We  had  not  always  been  the  most 

4 


5Q  Ordeal  by  Fire 

highly-strung  people  of  the  world;  during  the  forty 
years  of  peace  we  had  recaptured  our  gifts;  peace- 
lovers  by  nature  and  only  entering  the  lists  under 
provocation,  and  in  our  own  defence,  perhaps  we  were 
to  astonish  the  universe  anew  by  our  valiance. 

Why  not?  The  hypothesis  appealed  to  my  sense 
of  vanity.  Oh  well,  we  should  see,  we  shoiild  see! 

Should  I  have  retained  any  misgivings  if  my  walk 
had  led  me  to  the  outskirts  of  the  Gare  de  L'Est, 
where  the  people  of  Paris  were  beginning  to  set  such 
a  sublime  example  of  steadfastness,  and  dignity? 


MY  FATHER 

SEVEN  o'clock  struck.  I  did  not  forget  that  I  was 
dining  in  the  Rue  des  Beaux-Arts,  and  hurried  towards 
the  left  bank  of  the  river.  On  the  way  I  wondered 
what  had  dictated  this  visit  ?  Was  it  filial  affection  ? 
Not  at  all.  I  was  simply  acting  in  accordance  with  a 
banal  convention. 

My  father  had  never  taken  any  interest  in  me,  even 
when  quite  tiny.  As  my  health ,  which  was  poor  at  that 
time,  had  prevented  his  thinking  me  fit  to  be  made  into 
a  soldier,  I  had  been  practically  non-existent  in  his 
eyes.  Victor,  my  elder  by  two  years,  was  everything 
to  him.  He  had  him  educated  at  La  Fle'che,  though  it 
cost  him  a  lot,  in  order  to  steep  him,  from  his  child- 
hood, in  military  ideal  and  discipline. 

It  is  the  dream  of  all  fathers  to  be  continued  in  their 
sons.  Colonel  Dreher  only  wished  to  live  over  again 
in  the  hope  of  Revenge.  I  have  already  said  that  he 
fought  like  a  demon  in  the  year  '70.  When  a  young 
subaltern  in  the  Guards,  he  had  been  in  the  charge  at 
St.  Privat,  had  had  his  horse  killed  under  him,  and  had 
got  a  bullet  through  his  arm.  Captured  at  Metz,  and 
taken  on  into  Westphalia,  he  had  found  a  way  of  escap- 
ing, of  reaching  Holland,  and  of  rallying  Faidherbe's 
army  in  time  to  get  a  splinter  of  shell  in  his  thigh  at 


52  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Bapaume.  The  news  of  the  armistice  had  found  him 
in  hospital,  that  of  the  treaty  had  disgusted  him.  He 
who  burned  to  go  on  fighting,  who  felt  no  fatigue! 
The  renunciation  of  the  two  Provinces  had  been  a 
bitter  blow,  and  the  counter-blows  more  bitter  still. 

As  a  Lorrain  of  Luneville,  he  had  quite  a  number  of 
near  relations  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Sarrebourg, 
many  of  whom  had  not  the  courage  to  ruin  themselves 
by  throwing  their  lot  in  with  their  true  fatherland. 
These  people  were  dead  for  him,  needless  to  say.  But 
these  repeated  misfortunes  had  done  not  a  little  to  con- 
tribute to  the  growing  gloom  of  his  character.  He  had 
rejoined  his  regiment  and  had  been  quartered  succes- 
sively at  Joignjr,  Moulins,  and  Rouen  where  he  had 
married,  and  lastly  at  Tours,  where  most  of  my  child- 
hood was  spent.  Decorated  for  distinguished  service 
in  the  field,  a  superb  leader  of  men,  he  would  have 
been  made  a  general  but  for  his  obstinate,  though 
discreet  opposition  to  a  government  timorous  enough 
to  put  up  with  such  peace  terms. 

My  mother,  the  one  person  I  might  really  have  loved, 
had  died  just  as  I  attained  my  fourteenth  birthday.  I 
had  finished  growing  up  under  the  paternal  tutelage. 
For  a  long  time  I  succeeded  in  persuading  myself  that 
the  Colonel  felt  heaven  knows  what  secret  fondness  for 
me.  Then  with  the  audacity  of  youth,  intoxicated  by 
the  first  lucid  glance  I  had  cast  on  life,  I  admitted  to 
myself  that  I  had  been  duped.  I  was  of  very  little 
account  in  this  old  man's  eyes.  Let  him  content  him- 
self with  my  deference,  as  I  did  with  his  correction ! 

There  was  no  intimacy  between  us.  As  I  grew  up, 
our  relations  came  to  be  stamped  with  rather  a  cold 
courtesy,  like  that  between  strangers  thrown  together 
by  chance,  for  the  space  of  a  voyage.  My  father  never 


My  Father  53 

asked  me  about  my  ambitions,  once  only  about  my 
immediate  prospects;  it  was  after  I  had  taken  my 
second  degree.  He  neither  approved  nor  found  fault 
with  my  intentions. 

Having  been  placed  on  the  retired  list  just  at  this 
point  he  came  to  live  in  Paris.  I  never  knew  if  it  was 
to  facilitate  my  studies. 

Three  years  went  by,  then  my  year  of  military  ser- 
vice. On  leaving  the  regiment  I  felt  the  need  of  a 
separate  establishment.  No  objections  were  raised. 
My  share  of  my  mother's  fortune  already  enabled  me  to 
support  myself,  and  my  post  in  the  Abyssinian  Railway 
Company  soon  brought  me  affluence.  I  dined  with 
my  father  every  Sunday,  as  I  said  before.  We  ex- 
changed opinions  on  the  events  of  the  week,  without 
in  any  way  committing  ourselves.  He  gave  me  news 
of  Victor's  household. 

On  leaving  St.  Cyr,  my  brother,  having  chosen  to 
go  into  the  Colonial  infantry,  had  been  sent  to  Roche- 
fort  to  await  his  commission;  and  then  he  went  and 
fell  in  love  with  a  girl  he  met  at  the  "  Cercle  Militaire  " 
ball.  At  the  request  of  her  family,  he  had  obtained 
leave  to  exchange  into  the  home  forces.  He  had  got 
married.  My  father  had  not  blamed  him  in  the  least 
for  giving  up  a  life  of  warlike  adventure. 

Full  of  his  one  idea,  the  old  soldier  preferred  to  see 
his  son  on  the  frontier  ready  for  the  day,  which  he 
always  hoped  was  close  at  hand,  when  war  would 
break  out. 

My  brother !  To  think  that  when  we  were  brought 
up  together,  before  he  left  for  La  F16che,  we  were  fond 
of  each  other!  .  .  .  Little  by  little  had  come  de- 
tachment and  loss  of  affection.  .  .  .  To-day  we  were 
strangers  to  each  other.  Our  intercourse  was  confined 


54  Ordeal  by  Fire 

to  the  exchange  of  a  few  post  cards  at  New  Year  and 
Easter.  My  sister-in-law,  Genevieve,  a  pleasant, 
insignificant  little  creature,  had  been  friendly  to  me 
at  the  beginning ;  I  had  spent  three  days  with  them  at 
St.  Mihiel  not  long  ago,  at  her  request.  I  was  bored 
to  tears.  In  future  it  would  be  quite  enough  for  me  to 
see  them  during  the  short  stays  they  made  in  the  Rue 
des  Beaux-Arts,  twice  a  year.  I  went  when  invited. 
My  father  seemed  to  have  grown  young  again.  He 
cheered  up  and  chatted,  and  played  with  his  grand- 
children whom  he  was  mad  about.  He  adored  his 
daughter-in-law  too,  and  paid  her  endless  little  atten- 
tions. It  caused  me  no  embarrassment  or  jealousy  to 
be  present  during  these  effusions. 

My  father  got  up  from  his  chair  and  came  to  meet 
me.  He  was  drawn  up  to  his  full  height.  His  face 
beamed  as  I  had  expected. 

"You're  pleased?"  I  said. 

"Yes.  Oh,  yes.  I  had  given  up  all  hope  of  seeing 
this!" 

The  soup  was  brought  in.  I  urged  him  to  talk.  He 
did  not  wait  to  be  asked  twice.  He  had  a  good  word 
for  several  of  our  politicians — an  astounding  thing  for 
him ! — for  the  abettors  of  the  ' '  loi  de  j  ans, ' '  for  the  Pre- 
sident of  the  Republic,  for  the  President  of  the  Council. 
This  mobilisation  order  was  a  good  answer  to  the 
German  measures !  Tit  for  tat !  The  rogues,  we  had 
our  eye  on  them !  Hour  by  hour  we  knew  all  they  were 
plotting  and  planning!  .  .  .  My  father  declared 
that  he  had  gone  over  completely  to  the  Government. 
At  such  a  time  all  differences  must  be  sunk.  It  struck 
me  that  he  had  gleaned  these  doctrines  from  his  news- 
paper. I  admired  the  eternal  authority  of  common- 


My  Father  55 

places.  I  suddenly  saw  him  searching  his  pockets. 
He  had  received  a  letter  from  St.  Mihiel  this  morning, 
as  on  every  morning  since  the  outbreak  of  the  crisis. 
He  handed  it  to  me. 

"It'sfromGenevieve." 

"Has  Victor  gone?" 

"He  went  four  days  ago. " 

Mobilisation  had  not  been  expected  over  there.  It 
was  on  Thursday,  the  3Oth,  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
that  Genevieve,  standing  at  her  window,  her  head 
framed  by  those  of  her  two  little  children,  had  seen  her 
husband  march  away  proudly,  with  raised  sword,  at 
the  head  of  his  company.  This  vision  intoxicated  my 
father.  It  did  not  leave  me  indifferent.  And,  like 
him,  I  approved  of  the  steadfast,  confident  tone  of 
the  young  wife's  letter.  As  to  leaving  St.  Mihiel, 
she  wrote,  such  a  thought  had  never  entered  their 
heads! 

"She's  quite  right,"  said  my  father;  "the  Prussians 
will  never  get  there;  they'll  soon  be  sent  back  again. 
You  know  we've  already  got  seven  hundred  thousand 
men  on  the  frontier." 

He  added : 

"And  Victor  in  the  first  line." 

His  first-born,  the  re-incarnation  of  his  imperious 
youth!  The  old  man's  bellicose  imagination  rode 
along  at  his  side.  He  explained  to  me  how,  since  the 
other  day,  he  followed  him  hour  by  hour;  he  saw  him, 
having  taken  up  his  position  on  a  spur  of  Mont-Secq, 
watching  the  Woevre  where  the  cavalry  would  soon  be 
engaged.  Though  not  very  familiar  with  the  topo- 
graphy of  this  region,  I  understood  the  r61e  assigned 
to  the  covering  forces,  to  hold  on  at  all  costs,  in  front 
of  the  C6tes  de  Meuse  even  if  attacked  by  forces  ten 


56  Ordeal  by  Fire 

times  superior  in  number,  while  the  concentration 
went  on  behind  the  hills. 

"A  dangerous  task,  that!" 

"Yes,"  said  my  father.  "Most  of  them  will  stay 
there." 

I  examined  him,  furtively;  his  massive  Lorrain's 
head,  the  ruddy  face  beneath  the  white  hair,  the 
square  jaw,  the  nose  with  a  heavy,  decided  bridge. 
Sturdy  and  tall  like  an  old  oak,  his  only  complaint 
at  the  age  of  sixty-seven  was  an  occasional  attack  of 
rheumatism.  I  might  have  been  gazing  at  the  portrait 
of  some  ancestor.  Was  he  not  indeed  an  anachronism 
in  our  century.  Taciturn  and  reserved,  but  upright, 
frank,  and  sound  all  through,  the  hero  of  an  exclusive 
faith,  of  a  single  hate  and  a  single  love,  he  treated 
with  scorn  all  human  contingencies  in  the  exaltation 
of  his  passion.  It  is  true  that  he  loved  my  brother 
as  much  as  if  he  had  been  his  only  son.  And  yet 
if  he  were  to  go  and  get  killed  in  one  of  the  first 
engagements,  I  could  foresee  that  the  old  man  would 
weep,  gnawing  at  his  grey  moustache,  but  in  this 
sorrow  he  would  taste  the  joy  of  sacrifice.  If  France 
were  victorious  he  would  consider  success  cheap 
at  the  price.  Oh!  how  complete  was  the  contrast 
between  us,  I  thought.  I  supple,  and  of  medium 
height,  owing  the  triumph  over  my  constitutional 
delicacy  only  to  the  tardy  pursuit  of  sports.  I,  smil- 
ing and  polite  as  a  matter  of  form,  but  a  cynic  and 
dissembler;  I  who  believed  in  nothing,  loved  and 
hated  nothing! 

Led  away  by  a  natural  inclination,  he  conjured  up  his 
recollections  of  the  other  war:  deeds  of  courage  and 
cruelty,  stories  breathing  blood  and  powder,  all  ending 
in  violence  and  murder.  It  woke  him  up  and  en- 


My  Father  57 

raptured  him  to  breathe  the  fumes  of  the  slaughters 
of  yesterday  and  to-day. 

My  demeanour  and  head  tossings  seemed  to  en- 
courage him.  Oh!  if  only  he  could  have  read  my 
thoughts.  If  he  had  guessed  my  detestation  of  all 
fighting.  My  horror  of  physical  suffering,  the  only  true 
suffering  in  my  eyes,  my  longing  for  repose  even  with- 
out honour,  my  indifference  respecting  my  threatened 
country,  the  wish  which  I  caught  myself  forming — I 
had  got  as  far  as  that ! — to  see  our  mobilisation  hindered, 
or  even  prevented  altogether,  the  red  flag  hoisted,  and 
our  defeat  proclaimed  before  I  had  run  any  risk ! 

My  father,  happily,  had  neither  the  taste  nor  the 
gift  for  probing  people's  minds.  His  beliefs  dazzled 
him  with  such  shining  proof  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand any  one  challenging  them.  He  could  not  have 
attributed  thoughts  like  mine  to  any  one  but  the  scum 
of  the  nation,  degenerates,  debased  by  sloth,  vice,  and 
alcohol.  Strange  that  I  should  be  of  his  blood. 

The  pudding  was  served.  Melanie  handed  round 
a  chestnut  cream.  My  father  led  the  conversation 
back  to  Victor.  I  discerned  the  great  longing  in  the 
old  man's  heart  to  see  his  son — the  apple  of  his  eye — 
again,  and  to  do  him  honour. 

"He  won't  be  long  now  before  he  gets  his  company. " 

I  had  never  taken  umbrage  at  the  paternal  solicitude. 
Why  should  I  suddenly  to-day  consider  as  strange  an 
affection  so  much  out  of  proportion.  .  .  ?  You 
might  have  thought  my  brother  was  the  only  one  who 
was  going  to  risk  his  life .  .  .  .  And  what  about  me? 
I  ventured  to  draw  attention  to  the  fact. 

"You'll  be  only  in  the  second  line." 

' '  I  beg  your  pardon !  Our  division  is  attached  to  the 
4th  Corps  on  the  active  list." 


58  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"When  do  you  rejoin?" 

"The  day  after  to-morrow." 

Then  he  deigned  to  ask  me  certain  questions,  this 
one  among  others : 

"How  about  your  foot-gear?" 

I  explained  that  the  regulation  boots  hurt  me. 

"That's  a  pity!  A  man  with  sensitive  feet  never 
makes  a  good  soldier." 

He  went  on : 

"You'll  remember  you're  a  Lorrain!" 

But  at  that  I  came  near  to  shaking  my  head.  A 
Lorrain?  Never.  More  likely  of  the  other  race,  my 
mother's.  Or  more  likely  still,  of  none  at  all.  There 
were  too  many  strains  in  me ;  none  of  them  succeeded 
in  getting  the  upper  hand.  I  was  the  nameless  pro- 
duct of  concluding  epochs. 

Time  was  getting  on.  I  excused  myself  from  stay- 
ing late,  and  no  efforts  were  made  to  keep  me. 

"You'll  be  busy  to-morrow?" 

"All  day  long,  unfortunately." 

"But  still  I'll  try  to  look  in  to  say  good-bye"  I 
added,  "but  I  daren't  make  any  promises." 

I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  do  nothing  of  the 
sort. 

"Come  and  dine  if  you  can." 

I  had  got  as  far  as  the  hall.  M61anie  turned  on  the 
light  for  us. 

I  thought,  as  I  buttoned  my  gloves,  how  well  adapted 
the  situation  would  have  been  for  the  stage.  The  son 
leaving  for  the  Front.  The  great  Farewell  scene.  Even 
a  second-rate  actor  could  have  drawn  tears  from  the 
public  in  it.  ...  I,  as  actor  and  spectator  com- 
bined, experienced  not  the  faintest  trace  of  emotion. 
Nor,  to  a  certainty,  did  my  father.  So  much  the  better ! 


My  Father  59 

In  that  case  we  were  sure  to  escape  being  ridiculous. 
Why  did  it  again  occur  to  me  that  if  it  had  been 
Victor  .  .  .? 

"Well,  good-bye,  Father."     I  said. 

"Good-bye,  Michel." 

He  held  out  his  broad  wrinkled  hand  to  me.  To  my 
surprise,  it  was  shaking. 

I  had  opened  the  door  part  way,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  going  out,  when  he  drew  me  back.  I  suddenly  saw 
his  face,  with  its  white  beard,  bending  over  me.  He 
kissed  me.  It  was,  I  think,  the  first  time  for  ten 
years. 

"Fight  well!" 

"I  promise  you  I  will." 

I  went  quickly  down  the  steps  feeling  quite  stag- 
gered. Hardly  had  I  reached  the  bottom,  when  I 
recovered  myself.  I  asked  myself,  mockingly,  whether 
I  had  not  been  affected  by  the  traditional  emotion? 

A  little,  I  admitted. 

But  I  had  the  decency  not  to  scoff  at  it  openly. 


CHAPTER  IX 
MY  FRIEND 

MY  char-woman  woke  me  by  bringing  me  the  papers, 
which  I  read  in  bed. 

To  think  that  it  had  not  come  yet!  It  was  true 
that  all  intercourse  had  been  broken  off  between  Berlin 
and  St.  Petersburg,  and  even  on  our  frontier  there  had 
already  been  some  deaths,  the  Samain  brothers  and 
the  Cure*  de  Moineville.  Provocations  and  outrages 
were  multiplying  and  increasing  in  severity.  Our 
forces  nevertheless  were  still  kept  back  two  miles 
from  the  frontier.  M.  de  Schoen  was  still  about. 
They  were  talking ! 

The  papers  did  not  cover  more  than  a  page  now, 
and  were  quickly  read.  They  all  contained  the 
same  incoherent  communiques  and  the  rare  telegrams 
which  were  allowed  by  the  censor  (already !)  to  trickle 
through. 

Details  in  plenty  on  the  manifestations  in  Paris  and 
in  the  provinces.  The  same  old  story!  In  one  of 
them  there  was  a  technical  article  headed  "The  De- 
fence of  Nancy."  This  title  interested  me.  I,  like 
most  other  people,  felt  so  certain  that  this  town  was 
doomed;  at  the  mercy  of  the  first  masterly  move. 

What  baffled  me  was  the  placid,  docile  attitude  of 
my  friends  the  socialists.  How  little  one  heard  of 

60 


My  Friend  61 

them!  It  was  true  that  the  censor  .  .  .  but  never 
mind !  Jaures,  as  he  was  dying,  had  left  them  the  order 
to  go  on,  and  they  were  going  on.  Closed  ranks  and 
obedience  and  confidence  were  the  orders  of  the  day. 
Arguments  were  left  for  another  time!  and  on  my 
honour,  it  was  very  fine ! 

My  purchases  of  the  preceding  day  were  delivered. 
I  asked  the  boy  who  brought  them,  if  he  was  going  to 
fight. 

"Of  course!" 

He  was  a  cheery  soul.  He  liked  the  idea  of  knock- 
ing the  Bosches  on  the  head;  he  had  no  great  opinion 
of  them  chaps.  And  then  besides  that,  it  was  worth 
takin'  a  bit  o'  trouble  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  for 
him  whose  week  had  been  spent  in  running  errands, 
and  his  Sundays  as  assistant  in  a  picture  palace,  for 
how  long.  .  .  ?  Blowed  if  it  wasn't  five  blooming 
years — yes,  ever  since  he  was  a  nipper  of  seventeen — 
he'd  never  set  eyes  on  the  country.  .  .  . 

Were  there  many  like  that,  I  wondered. 

When  I  tried  on  my  boots  they  seemed  to  me  to 
squeeze  me.  Was  there  a  pad  in  the  heel.  I  put  in 
my  hand  but  brought  nothing  out.  I  should  have  to 
squash  the  counter  to  make  it  more  pliable. 

No  business  called  me  out-of-doors.  My  list  of 
errands  had  been  exhausted  the  day  before.  What 
friend  should  I  go  to  see.  They  would  all  be  running 
about  the  town  in  the  excitement  and  emotion  of 
departures  and  farewells.  I  would  go  and  dine  with 
Laquarriere  this  evening,  that  would  be  enough  for  me. 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  the  streets  would  look 
just  as  commonplace  as  they  had  yesterday,  and  I 
should  get  all  the  information  I  wanted  from  the  news- 
papers. 


62  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  stayed  quietly  at  home,  looking  through  my  papers 
and  reading  over  some  old  letters.  The  idea  of  making 
my  will  occurred  to  me  ....  But,  when  once  I  was 
gone,  what  would  it  matter  to  me? 

My  friends  in  the  regiment  would  have  laughed  if 
they  had  known  to  what  I  had  been  tempted  to  con- 
secrate my  day,  ever  since  I  woke  up.  I  went  and 
fished  up  a  book  in  a  grey  cover  from  the  bottom  of  my 
book-case;  my  old  Handbook  for  Non-Commissioned 
Officers. 

I  had  not  opened  the  book  since  the  beginning  of  my 
military  service,  not  even  when  I  had  been  put  in 
command  of  a  section.  It  was  quite  possible,  to-day, 
in  view  of  the  deficiency  of  officers,  that  I  should  be 
given  a  commission. 

So  I  lunched  at  home.  I  got  through  almost  the 
whole  of  the  book;  for  instance  the  "Section  in  Ac- 
tion," and  "Field  Operations,"  "Alimentation,"  and 
"Hygiene,"  such  chapters  as  I  agreed  with  in  letter 
and  in  spirit.  But  with  what  disdain  did  I  skip 
everything  concerning  peace  time  or  even  garrison 
duty. 

Towards  evening,  somebody  rang  the  bell  :    Laquar- 


I  greeted  him  with,  "A  good  idea,  old  fellow!  I  was 
coming  round  to  say  good-bye.  " 

"Oh  yes,  of  course.     You're  off!"  he  said. 

He  had  escaped  his  military  service,  thanks  to  being 
slightly  short-sighted,  and  to  the  fact  that  he  could 
demand  a  good  deal  of  interest. 

He  was  my  only  intimate.  We  had  never  been 
parted  during  our  school  days  at  the  lycte  at  Tours. 
We  had  come  up  to  Paris  in  the  same  year  to  begin  our 
legal  studies.  The  Bar  had  attracted  him;  he  seemed 


My  Friend  63 

to  be  going  to  succeed  there;  he  had  been  accepted 
when  still  quite  young  as  secretary  to  the  "Confe'r- 
ence. "  We  met  almost  every  evening;  we  dined  and 
then  idled  together;  our  tastes  agreed.  Together  we 
had  forged  a  philosophy,  drawn  from  various  sources, 
which  fulfilled  all  our  requirements.  How  com- 
pletely our  ideas  harmonised  in  our  wholesale  scorn 
for  people  and  things,  and  for  ourselves,  our  hatred 
of  appearances  and  of  Sentiment!  We  were  candid, 
almost  to  the  point  of  brutality,  in  our  dealings  with 
each  other.  Courtesy  and  consideration  were  well 
enough  for  fools.  I  took  a  delight  in  the  thought 
that  our  surly  bearing  towards  each  other  hid  a  firm 
friendship. 

"You  stay  here,  I  suppose!     Your  usual  luck!" 

He  found  nothing  to  say  to  me  but: 

"Bah!     Some  will  come  back,  after  all!" 

"To  think, "  I  continued,  "that  in  a  fortnight  I  may 
be  under  fire! " 

"Yes.     I  can  see  you  at  it ! " 

"How  do  you  think  I  shall  get  on?" 

"Not  brilliantly!" 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"I  know  you." 

I  protested: 

"That's  idiotic!  I'm  sure  there's  a  special  grace 
given  to  uphold  you!" 

He  conceded : 

"That's  true  enough.  One  must  be  utterly  dazed 
and  allow  oneself  to  be  driven,  without  knowing  what 
one  is  doing  or  where  one  is  going. " 

This  opinion  shocked  me. 

"You  exaggerate!  I  admit  that  may  be  so  for  the 
soldiers,  wretched  beasts  of  burden,  .  .  .  but  when 


64  Ordeal  by  Fire 

once  you  are  an  N.  C.  0.,  and  have  responsibility  of 
some  kind.  ..." 

"One  more  chance  of  losing  your  head. " 

I  denied  it.  I,  for  instance,  absorbed  by  the  anxiety 
of  leading  my  men,  was  sure  partially  to  forget  the 
danger.  .  .  . 

"Bah!  Once  there,  morale  is  the  only  thing  that 
counts. " 

"Well?" 

"You  won't  get  me  to  believe.    .    .    ." 

I  hesitated,  then  I  said : 

"After  all.  If  I  am  going  to  fight,  it  only  depended 
on  me  ...  I  was  in  Switzerland.  ..." 

He  sneered : 

"No  humbugging!  You  came  back  for  reasons 
which  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  patriotism! 
Simply  because  if  you  had  not  done  so,  your  position, 
your  cash,  and  your  little  mode  of  living,  would  all 
have  gone  overboard  at  one  fell  blow." 

His  words  reminded  me  of  the  vague  hopes  which 
had  suggested  themselves  to  me  two  days  before. 

"Listen!  I  certainly  won't  hide  from  you  the  fact 
that  I  envy  you.  I  should  be  delighted  to  stay  under 
shelter  like  you.  And  yet  .  .  .  shall  I  own  up  to  a 
certain  kind  of  curiosity?  War?  This  War.  The 
greatest  of  all !  It  seems  to  me  that  it's  worth  expe- 
riencing. What  an  amazing  opportunity  for  accumu- 
lating memories,  and  also  of  refreshing  oneself,  of 
drawing  near  to  nature!" 

He  exploded.  Good  Heavens!  Did  I  think  it 
would  have  the  faintest  interest  for  me !  Was  not  the 
peculiarity  of  modern  campaign  a  terrible  tedium? 
You  never  see  the  enemy.  You  spend  days  m  shovel- 
ling ground  about.  The  operations  are  on  such  a  vast 


My  Friend  65 

scale  that  the  majors  and  colonels  themselves  often 
do  not  follow  them  in  the  least. 

"And  you're  counting  on  it  for  distraction  and 
refreshment.  Poor  old  chap!  It  would  have  been 
well  worth  making  yourself  scarce.  Well,  you're  in 
for  it  now.  What  do  you  want?  Regeneration  by 
war!  Back  to  the  land!  I'm  quite  content!  If 
you  consider  that  your  life  was  becoming  too  monoton- 
ous, go  and  amuse  yourself  by  getting  a  piece  of  shrap- 
nel into  you,  over  yonder  towards  Epinal !  That  will 
wake  you  up  a  bit!" 

He  had  beaten  me.     I  contented  ntyself  with  assum- 
ing a  jeering  expression,  in  order  to  let  him  think  I 
had  been  pulling  his  leg. 
I 


CHAPTER  X 

EVENING,   ON  THE   BOULEVARDS 

IT  was  time  to  go  and  dine.  I  bought  a  paper 
directly  we  got  out.  Laquarriere  exclaimed : 

"What  thirst  for  news!" 

"I  admit  it." 

"And  you  expect  to  find  it  in  the  papers!" 

It  was  a  fact  that  I  searched  in  vain  for  any  definite 
news  concerning  the  serious  military  and  diplomatic 
situations.  Always  the  same  system  of  brief,  touched- 
up  telegrams.  One  would  so  much  have  liked  to 
be  certain  of  England's  attitude.  However,  the 
theory  of  Italian  neutrality  seemed  to  be  confirmed; 
one  good  point ! 

"What  will  the  flying  machines  do?"  I  asked 
suddenly. 

The  subject  interested  me.  I  had  visions  of  raids 
and  fantastic  combats  d  la  Wells. 

"Nothing  at  all!"  Laquarriere  broke  in.  "They 
haven't  a  ghost  of  a  chance  against  Zeppelins. " 

He  embarked  on  the  praises  of  these  Dreadnoughts 
of  the  air,  one  of  which  had  gone  two  thousand  kilo- 
metres without  a  stop,  a  few  months  before. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to  see  them  over  Paris 
to-night!" 

I  tossed  my  head.     He  continued: 
66 


Evening,  On  the  Boulevards       67 

"Besides,  as  regards  aeroplanes,  you  mustn't 
imagine  that  we're  in  any  way  superior  to  them  in 
that  line.  They've  beaten  all  our  records  lately, 
distance  and  height." 

It  was  only  one  detail  among  many.  He  did  not 
hide  from  me  the  fact  that  he  had  an  extremely  poor 
opinion  of  our  state  of  preparation.  Cipollina's  tone 
and  mistrust  were  repeated  in  him.  I  ventured  to 
remark : 

"Our  troops  in  the  East  are  tip-top." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Perhaps,  but  you  are  hardly  up  to  the  same  form." 

What  could  one  say  without  losing  one's  temper, 
a  thing  I  was  not  in  the  least  anxious  to  do. 

After  leaving  the  restaurant,  we  took  a  turn  on  the 
boulevards,  where  the  increasing  crowd  was  gathering. 
Lost  in  the  streams  of  people,  alternately  bumped 
into  or  elbowed,  it  was  impossible  to  keep  up  a  con- 
nected conversation.  So  much  the  better.  I  was 
quite  willing  to  forget  the  presence  of  my  companion. 

I  was  haunted  by  the  thought  that  it  was  my  last 
evening  of  liberty.  .  .  . ;  after  to-morrow  my  uniform 
would  impose  upon  me  the  strictest  restraint.  I  was 
making  use  of  the  final  respite.  I  inhaled  without 
displeasure  the  dusty  air  laden  with  the  smells  of 
acetylene  gas  and  human  emanations. 

A  lot  of  the  shop  windows  had  their  shutters  up  and 
looked  dismal,  and  looking  up  one  could  make  out 
insolent  German  inscriptions.  Angry  bourgeois  mut- 
tered as  they  passed,  clenching  their  fists.  People 
were  talking  of  nothing  but  the  hasty  dismissals  of 
the  day  before.  The  other  shops  flaunted  their  daz- 
zling electric  lights.  The  luminous  sky-signs,  intermit- 


68  Ordeal  by  Fire 

tent  and  hallucinating,  unrolled  flamboyant  zigzags 
and  blazing  coils.  An  unreal  scene,  well  suited  to  the 
agitation  of  the  hour !  Soon  it  would  be  quenched  and 
blotted  out  and  dismal.  .  .  .  Paris  was  lavishing 
her  final  brilliance.  What  gaps  were  to  be  made  by 
to-morrow's  call  in  this  multitude  promenading  their 
quivering  city  with  such  pride!  I  tried  to  read  his 
secret  on  the  face  of  each  man  of  an  eligible  age  for 
military  service.  Was  he  going  to  rejoin?  and  I  felt 
inclined  to  shout  to  him: 

"I'm  going,  you  know;  I'm  one  of  you!" 

My  glance  rested  approvingly  on  the  sturdy-looking 
fellows  whose  martial  air  under  their  kepis  I  could  well 
imagine.  With  their  heads  held  high  and  their  hands 
behind  their  backs,  most  of  them  looked  about  them 
with  a  superlatively  good-natured  expression,  quite 
innocent  of  swagger. 

Laquarnere  shouted  down  my  ear: 

"You  all  look  as  if  you  were  starting  out  for  a  day's 
shooting!" 

Oh !  so  I  looked  like  the  rest  ?  Well,  I  was  not  sorry 
for  it! 

My  companion  persuaded  me  to  finish  up  the  even- 
ing in  a  music  hall. 

The  place  was  full.  Lots  of  people  were  treating 
themselves  to  an  evening's  amusement  before  the 
coming  horrors.  There  was  a  sketch,  followed  by 
several  acrobatic  turns.  The  audience  was  enthu- 
siastic. But  I  was  struck,  nevertheless,  by  the  cold- 
ness with  which  "the  eccentric"  Fergusson,  usually 
the  idol  of  the  public,  was  received. 

Laquarnere  enlightened  me  by  remarking: 

"That  will  teach  England  to  buck  up  a  bit!" 

We  laughed  together  over  the  childishness  of  crowds, 


Evening,  On  the  Boulevards        69 

for  this  "eccentric"  said  to  be  a  Londoner,  had  per- 
haps been  born  at  Javel.  The  three  Alkenkirch 
brothers,  the  Dresden  tight-rope  walkers,  had  also 
disappeared  from  the  programme. 

Laquarriere  whispered : 

"They  would  have  been  torn  to  pieces!  Just  look 
at  the  brutes." 

I  had  to  echo  him,  but  I  thought  to  myself  that  if 
ever  there  had  been  a  time  when  Chauvinism  was 
excusable.  .  .  . 

The  show  came  to  an  end.  There  was  not  the 
usual  rush  for  the  doors  when  the  curtain  fell  on  the 
final  scene  of  the  little  revue. 

"The  best  part  is  still  to  come!"  whispered  my 
companion. 

A  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd,  and  swelled  into 
"La  Marseillaise!  La  Marseillaise!" 

Laquarriere  nudged  me  with  his  elbow. 

"Now  we're  off!" 

He  assured  me  that  the  orchestra  had  had  orders  to 
delay  striking  up  in  order  to  give  the  audience  time  to 
work  itself  up. 

True  enough  the  uproar  was  increasing.  The 
audience  were  on  their  feet,  waving  their  sticks,  and 
violently  demanding: 

' '  La  Marseillaise! ' ' 

Laquarriere  called  my  attention  to  the  courtesans 
in  the  promenade,  who,  delighting  in  an  evening  which 
promised  to  be  fruitful,  stood  on  tiptoe  leaning  on  the 
arms  of  their  chance-met  companions,  and  stamping 
and  shouting:  "La  Marseillaise!"  : 

The  conductor's  baton  gave  three  short  taps.  On 
the  sudden  abatement  of  the  tumult,  rose  the  superb 
rhythm  of  the  opening  notes, — a  virile  introduction. 


70  Ordeal  by  Fire 

All  the  men  had  bared  their  heads  simultaneously. 

No;  not  all. 

"Hats  off!"  shouted  someone  behind  us. 

For  whom  was  the  order  meant?  For  Laquarriere, 
I  could  see.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  to  show  that 
it  pleased  him  to  thwart  such  a  fool.  But  the  moment 
was  ill-chosen.  Other  voices,  already  grown  threaten- 
ing, repeated: 

"Hats  off!    Hats  off!" 

He  gave  way,  smiling  scornfully. 

The  orchestra  excelled  themselves.  At  the  opening 
of  the  refrain  the  general  attention  was  caught  and 
held  by  the  imperative  call  of  the  repeated  high  note, 
and  the  feelings  of  the  audience  carried  away  by  the 
well-marked  rhythm  of  the  melody.  A  war-like  jollity 
was  abroad.  I  swear  I  had  a  momentary  vision  of 
risen  troops  hurling  themselves  in  serried  ranks  against 
the  hostile  masses.  I  shivered.  I  was  entering  into 
communion  with  the  multitude.  ... 

Laquarriere  leant  towards  me  and  made  some  re- 
mark which  I  did  not  catch,  but  which  I  had  to  ac- 
knowledge with  a  smile .  .  .  .  My  trance  was  over, 
I  listened  untroubled  to  the  crash  of  the  brasses,  as  it 
grew  in  intensity  and  rose  headlong  to  the  heights,  to 
die  away  in  wild  flourishes.  Then  from  two  thousand 
throats  there  rose  a  clamour  which  rolled  like  thunder 
round  the  roof.  A  new  thrill  ran  through  me;  I  was 
just  going  to  shout  .  .  .  when  Laquarriere  seized 
me  by  the  arm. 

"Let's  be  off!" 

"Nice  patriots!"  he  mocked;  "all  these  fine  fellows 
who  came  to  gaze  at  a  pretty  pair  of  legs. " 

That  restored  things  to  their  proper  proportions. 

' '  But  what  about  you  ?     It  shook  you  up  a  bit,  eh  ? " 


Evening,  On  the  Boulevards        71 

I  denied  it  obstinately. 

He  walked  back  with  me.  We  talked  of  nothing 
but  the  most  ordinary  things  on  the  way.  I  was  pre- 
occupied, almost  melted.  Why?  .  .  .  good  heavens! 
because  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  going  to  part  from  the 
only  friend  of  my  childhood,  from  the  only  fellow 
being  who  really  knew  me .... 

Should  we  ever  see  each  other  again? 

In  spite  of  my  instinctive  horror  of  any  display  of 
feeling,  I  could  not  help  imagining  that  some  heartfelt 
word  would  pass  between  us,  some  brotherly  embrace 
draw  us  closer  to  each  other  .  .  .  and  the  prospect 
moved  me. 

Laquarriere  soon  settled  the  matter. 

When  we  got  to  my  door,  he  stopped  suddenly  and 
held  out  his  hand  saying : 

"Well,  so  long,  old  chap!  Hope  your  pack  will 
weigh  lightly  on  you ! " 

It  just  hit  the  nail  on  the  head. 

"So  long,  old  chap!"  I  repeated. 

He  went  off,  swinging  his  stick. 

Oh  well,  it  was  quite  natural !  We  were  nothing  to 
each  other.  Nobody  was  anything  to  any  one .  .  .  . 
What  idle  fancies  I  had  woven ! 


BOOK  III 

August  4th-pth 

CHAPTER  XI 

THE  FIRST   STAGE 

MONTPARNASSE  station — cold  and  grey  on  this  dull 
August  morning.  Groups  of  people,  each  setting  out 
with  its  escort,  might  be  seen  streaming  in  from  all  the 
neighbouring  turnings  towards  the  square  which  the 
last  tooting  trams  were  crossing.  They  formed  but 
one  swarm,  scattered  and  renewed  without  ceasing. 
There  was  nothing  like  these  huge  quivering  masses, 
the  preoccupation  of  all  Paris,  magnificent  in  their 
emotion  and  courage,  who  succeeded  each  other  at  the 
Gare  de  L'Est.  Poor  women,  young  and  old  looking 
almost  equally  faded,  were  carrying  old  handkerchiefs 
containing  the  possessions  of  their  husbands  and  sons, 
— working-men  in  broad  belts.  Beside  them,  fathers 
wearing  decorations  and  beautifull}7  dressed  mothers 
and  sisters  surrounded  young  bourgeois  dragging 
heavy  kit-bags.  All  these  people  were  holding  back 
their  tears  and  smiling,  saying  that  they  would  see 
each  other  again ! 

As  for  me,  I  was  alone.  I  was  leaving  nothing  be- 
hind me.  So  much  the  better;  I  was  glad  of  it.  I 

72 


The  First  Stage  73 

was  starting  on  the  great  adventure,  with  an  entirely 
open  mind,  in  the  role  of  an  on-looker. 

The  two  staircases  were  barricaded.  Only  one 
entrance  was  open,  reserved  for  soldiers  carrying  their 
railway  warrants  in  their  hands.  I  followed  the 
stream.  We  climbed  the  slope.  From  the  road  below 
passers-by  made  us  signs  of  encouragement.  I  noted 
the  quick  sprightly  steps  of  most  of  my  companions. 
Mine  were  rather  slower  but  firm  and  decided  never- 
theless. I  unconsciously  adopted  the  gait  of  a  man 
who  means  to  see  the  thing  through. 

I  should,  I  thought,  see  nearly  all  my  contemporaries 
in  the  regiment  turning  up  at  this  meeting-place.  I 
rejoiced  at  the  thought  of  spying  out,  on  each  one's 
forehead,  the  reflection  of  his  private  feelings. 

The  comrades  of  my  twenty-first  year!  There  is 
no  age  at  which  a  life  lived  in  common  is  responsible 
for  forming  more  attachments  than  this  one,  but  I  was 
among  those  who  had  made  the  fewest  friends  during 
those  ten  months.  I  had  had  a  room  to  myself  in 
town,  while  many  of  them  agreed  to  share  with  two  or 
three  others.  I  was  considered  a  bore ;  a  report  which 
I  had  started,  a  state  of  affairs  which  I  exploited,  in 
order  to  escape  endless  fatigues.  Beyond  that  I  was 
neither  liked  nor  disliked.  They  mistrusted  my  coldly 
mystifying  disposition,  they  envied  me  the  calm  in- 
solence with  which  I  defied  my  non-commissioned 
officers.  When  the  time  came  for  separation,  and  the 
exchange  of  addresses,  I  did  as  the  others  did ;  without 
any  illusions;  nobody  would  bother  to  look  me  up,  I 
felt  sure.  I  was  mistaken.  Someone  did  come: 
Guillaumin. 

He  was  a  grotesquely  ugly  chap,  with  a  great  thick 
red  nose,  short-sighted  eyes,  and  a  hoarse  voice.  A 


74  Ordeal  by  Fire 

chatter-box,  energetic  and  obliging,  loved  and  chaffed 
by  everyone.  What  should  he  do  but  get  the  idea 
into  his  head  of  keeping  in  touch  with  all  those  he  had 
considered  good  fellows  down  there!  And  he  had 
almost  succeeded  in  doing  so.  He  was  the  living  index 
which  one  need  only  consult  for  information  on  the 
fate  of  all  the  old  lot  in  our  platoon.  He  dropped  in 
to  see  me  from  time  to  time,  on  his  way  from  the  office 
where  he  vegetated  as  a  clerk.  We  dined  together 
on  those  evenings,  and  for  him,  I  deserted  Laquarriere, 
who,  having  caught  sight  of  him  one  day,  did  not 
spare  me  his  sarcasms  on  my  grotesque  "regimental 
friend." 

I  arrived  in  the  station.  It  was  swarming  with 
reservists  leaving  to  rejoin  their  regiment.  Not  many 
faces  that  I  recognised.  One  already  felt  lost,  and 
groups  were  formed  instinctively. 

The  first  one  I  shook  hands  with  was  Laraque,  the 
handsome  Laraque,  whose  rosy  shaven  face  and 
marked  features,  prepossessing  and  imperious  at  the 
same  time,  gave  him  simultaneously  the  air  of  a  Roman 
Emperor  or  of  a  ballad  prince. 

"Well,  there  we  are!"  he  said.     "Killing,    what?" 

"Killing,  oh  rather.     Got  your  ticket?" 

"What  do  you  imagine!  I  think  they  might  give 
us  a  free  trip!" 

His  tone  showed  me  where  I  was.  I  could  see  that 
it  was  going  to  be  the  proper  thing  to  take  everything 
as  a  joke.  Not  to  show  one's  feelings  in  any  way  .  .  . 
Good!  We  should  see  how  long  that  would  last! 
I  should  have  my  revenge  as  an  on-looker. 

Faron  joined  us,  the  son  of  the  professor  at  the 
Sorbonne.  He  himself  was  a  barrister,  thin,  energetic, 


The  First  Stage  75 

and  impenetrable.  He  buried  himself  in  his  news- 
papers. Then  Holveck  small  and  witty.  He  had 
just  started  a  bank,  with  a  branch  in  New  York. 
Ladmiraut,  an  old  Normalien  with  a  puffy  face  and 
thick,  hanging  lips,  an  erudite  pedant  and  a  simple 
soul  who  used  to  be  the  picked  target  for  all  the  prac- 
tical jokes.  Big  Denais,  the  finished  type  of  the  don't- 
care-a-blow-for-any-one  shover.  Fortin,  who  had 
taken  a  degree  in  history,  a  lecturer  and  public  speaker, 
not  long  returned  from  Germany,  and  already  in  search 
of  a  public. 

It  was  a  very  lively  scene.  All  meeting  and  recog- 
nising and  calling  to  one  another. 

"Helloa  Miquel,  is  that  you?" 

"What  a  nice  surprise!" 

"No!  it  must  be  a  put-up  job!" 

They  were  all  here,  all  going  to  fight.  But  with 
what  will,  I  could  not  yet  decide. 

Our  train,  the  7:16,  was  almost  due.  Laraque 
dragged  me  away  towards  the  platform,  out  of  breath 
and  purple  in  the  face,  his  hat  and  eye-glass  on  one 
side.  He  wiped  his  damp  forehead  and  shiny  nose. 

"Do  you  know  what  delayed  me?" 

We  did  not  listen  to  his  story,  he  realised  it,  and  cut 
it  short. 

"And   .    .    .  what  about  the  old  lot?" 

I  mentioned  some  names  and  expressed  my  sur- 
prise at  not  seeing  Boutet. 

"What!  You  haven't  heard  about  it!  Poor 
wretch !  He's  been  at  Berck,  for  the  last  six  months. " 

"Oh,  I  say  .    .    .  that's  the  limit,"  said  Laraque. 

He  laughed,  but  I  felt  that  it  was  only  half  in  fun. 

Guillaumin  continued : 

"I  came  across  little  Fremont  outside." 


76  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Oh!" 

"He  couldn't  tear  himself  away  from  his  wife." 

"What,  Fre'mont  married?" 

"Yes,  rather,  six  weeks  ago." 

Just  think  of  that.  The  idea  amused  me.  He  had 
been  the  youngest  in  the  platoon,  enlisting  at  the  age 
of  eighteen,  though  he  did  not  look  more  than  sixteen. 
He  was  as  beardless  and  fresh  as  a  girl  and  scared  at 
first  by  the  round  oaths  in  the  barrack-room  .  .  . 
and  now  he  was  married! 

"What's  his  wife  like?" 

"Also  quite  young.  They're  like  two  children! 
She  wants  to  go  to  F with  him. " 

The  journey  lasted  just  four  hours. 

We  had  scrambled  into  one  of  the  "commandeered" 
carriages  which  within  a  few  days  would  take  us  on  to 
the  scene  of  action. 

We  were  gay  with  a  gaiety  in  some  cases  sponta- 
neous but  for  the  most  part,  assented  to,  though  neither 
forced  nor  painful.  Magnificent  inconsequence !  And 
the  delight  of  meeting  again  like  schoolboys  at  the 
beginning  of  the  October  term. 

At  certain  moments  we  touched  lightly  upon  some 
subject  of  serious  discussion.  England?  .  .  .  Oh 
yes!  England!  .  .  .  Some  facetious  remark  soon 
put  an  end  to  it.  Holveck  turned  to  Guillaumin: 

"You'll  have  to  do  away  with  your  eye-glass. " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  of  the  splinters  .  .  .  if  you  get  a  bullet 
in  your  eye!" 

This  sally  raised  a  general  laugh.  Through  thfc 
open  windows  our  gaze  roved  over  the  country-side. 
It  was  a  little  depressing  no  doubt.  This  war !  How 


The  First  Stage  77 

many  would  set  eyes  on  this  landscape  again  next  year ! 
.  .  .  But  let's  hope  for  the  best  whatever  happens. 
After  all,  it  simply  meant  that  manoeuvres  would  last 
rather  longer  than  usual !  .  .  .  This  state  of  affairs 
would  not  last  for  ever;  two  or  three  months,  six  at 
the  most!  and  it  would  be  all  over!  .  .  .  and  Phil- 
oppon,  the  fair-haired  dandy  who  had  been  brought  to 
the  station  in  a  car  by  his  people,  already  had  visions 
of  next  winter,  which  he  expected  to  spend  as  usual  on 
the  Riviera. 

"I  tell  you  what,  you  chaps,  I  shall  see  an  extra- 
ordinary improvement  in  it  after  the  war,  what!" 

On  our  arrival  we  went  straight  to  the  barracks. 

The  weather  was  stormy.  In  crossing  F I  was 

reminded  of  our  former  route  marches.  ...  Our 
platoon  heading  the  battalion.  The  company  com- 
mander gave  us  as  guide  a  great  lout  of  a  sergeant  who 
kept  up  a  stream  of  invectives.  All  the  world  and  his 
wife  were  at  the  windows.  Left — Right!  Left — 
Right !  Our  pace  quickened  going  up  the  hill,  and  we 
had  to  hang  on  to  each  other  in  order  to  keep  our  in- 
tervals. What  an  effort  it  was,  weighed  down,  and 
with  the  muscles  of  the  thigh  contracted,  and  those 
of  the  calf  aching,  to  cover  the  last  lap. 

I  called  these  things  to  mind  now  all  the  more  easily 
because  I  again  found  myself  struggling  with  my  pack 
on  the  same  ascent.  I  was  perspiring,  and  already 
tired  and  depressed.  And  then  in  those  days  I  had 
the  buoyancy  and  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  and  facing 
these  trials  I  used  to  say  to  myself,  "It's  got  to  be 
gone  through!"  I  had  the  feeling  that  I  was  buying 
repose  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 

What  a  sigh  I  had  heaved  when  my  time  was  up. 


78  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  had  thought  my  period  of  physical  constraint,  the 
most  trying  of  all,  over  and  done  with!  .  .  .  And 
now  I  had  got  to  go  through  it  all  over  again .... 
Worse  even  than  that.  The  hardest  part  by  far  still 
awaited  me!  .  .  .  How  I  loathed  in  advance  the 
bitter  hardships  to  come,  the  defilades  at  the  double, 
the  tramps  across  the  ploughed  fields  under  the  crush- 
ing weight  of  the  pack,  all  the  cursed,  humiliating, 
bodily  subjection. 

But  I  made  a  childish  vow  not  to  "overdo"  things, 
as  they  say. 


CHAPTER  XII 

NEW   COMRADES   AND   OLD 

HAVING  registered,  my  name  the  sergeant  on  duty 
snapped : 

' '  The  22nd !    They're  in  the  College,  Rue  St.  Paul. " 

One  thing  delighted  me.  Guillaumin  was  attached 
to  the  same  unit.  I  had  so  often  experienced  his 
good-nature  and  devotion.  He  would  be  invaluable, 
perfect,  on  active  service. 

But  what  other  non-coms,  should  we  have  as  com- 
panions ? 

Directly  we  got  to  our  quarters,  we  saw  two  men 
detach  themselves  from  the  group  standing  there. 
Two  more  of  the  old  lot,  two  school-teachers.  .  .  . 
Guillaumin  whispered  their  names  to  me — Descroix, 
a  squat,  red-haired  chap,  with  an  imperial  and  a 
clumsy  way  of  walking;  and  Humel,  a  small  slight  man 
with  a  thin  pale  face,  and  a  rather  cunning  expression. 
We  greeted  one  another  cordially,  pretending  to  con- 
gratulate ourselves  on  the  lucky  chance.  They 
lost  no  time  in  addressing  us  in  the  most  familiar 
terms,  and  we  put  on  no  side.  Conversation  soon 
began  to  lag,  however,  as  we  lacked  any  interests 
in  common. 

Guillaumin  suddenly  went  off.  He  brought  back  a 
man  named  De  Valpic  to  introduce  to  us.  He  was  tall 

79 


8o  Ordeal  by  Fire 

and  slim  and  distinguished-looking  with  a  gentle,  sad 
expression. 

As  he  was  already  in  uniform  the  company  sergeant- 
major,  who  was  passing,  requisitioned  him. 

When  he  had  gone,  we  asked  Guillaumin  who  he 
was. 

"Oh,  you  know  the  De  Valpics — the  historical  ones! 
He  is  the  ambassador's  nephew.  I  met  him  in  camp 
at  Mailly,  and  he  asked  me  to  go  and  see  him — A 
mansion  in  the  Rue  de  Crenelle,  with  a  courtyard  of 
sixty  yards.  But  quite  unspoilt,  a  very  good  sort, 
you'll  see!" 

"He'd  better  not  give  himself  airs  here!"  said 
Descroix. 

He  and  Humel  did  not  seem  in  the  least  disposed  to 
make  friends  with  the  new-comer. 

Reservists  kept  on  arriving  in  an  uninterrupted 
string,  their  rejoining  orders  in  their  hands. 

"Here  are  the  people  we're  going  to  get  killed  with," 
Guillaumin  said.  "What  sort  do  they  look?" 

Beaucerons  for  the  most  part,  reserved,  obstinate, 
weather-beaten  beings,  who  did  not  talk  much.  When 
they  did  it  was  with  a  guttural  accent.  I  was  able  to 
identify  the  faces  of  a  certain  number  of  worthy  farm- 
ers, the  Simeons  and  Gaudereaux  whom  I  had  noticed 
during  my  year's  services.  From  a  distance  they  all 
seemed  our  elders,  with  their  scored  faces,  and  their 
bodies  bent  and  thickened  by  the  rough  work  in  the 
fields.  A  minority  of  Parisians  were  making  four 
times  more  noise  than  the  others.  I  raised  my  eye- 
brows. I  had  caught  sight  of  Judsi  with  his  queer 
clown's  face — a  bad  stock — and  further  on,  Lamalou, 
a  huge  fellow  with  a  weakness  for  the  fair  sex,  who 
had  come  back  from  the  punishment  battalions  in 


New  Comrades  and  Old  81 

Africa;  a  good  sort,  but  terrible  when  he  had  been 
drinking. 

"The  deuce!"  I  said  to  GuiUaumin.  "We've  got 
some  bad  hats." 

"They  make  the  best  soldiers!" 

Judsi  was  raising  roars  of  laughter  by  handing  round 
the  hat,  his  hat,  an  extraordinary  object  which  he  must 
have  picked  up  for  fun  on  the  high  road. 

"Help  a  pore  man!" 

He  humbugged :  Didn't  his  pals  agree  that  it  was  just 
the  time  to  go  and  fetch  a  few  kilos  of  red  wine  ?  Who 
knew  whether  they  wouldn't  have  kicked  the  bucket 
by  to-morrow. 

He  ended  by  collecting  about  four  francs.  He  went 
off  and  came  back  in  ten  minutes'  time  carrying  seven 
or  eight  bottles. 

They  made  him  a  speech,  they  smacked  each  other 
on  the  back,  they  went  into  fits  simply  at  the  sight  of 
him  clicking  his  tongue  or  rolling  his  eyes. 

I  suddenly  caught  sight  of  someone  coming  towards 
me  .  .  .  the  brick  red  cheeks,  the  flat  nose,  the  crisp 
hair,  and  full  lips  exposing  the  receding  gums  .  .  . 
all  these  were  familiar  to  me.  The  man  was  wearing 
a  dirty  grey  suit.  He  held  out  his  hairy  paw  to  me. 

"Halloa,  my 'rooky'!" 

The  sound  of  his  voice  enabled  me  to  place  him. 

"Bouillon!" 

Eight  years  before,  when  I  first  joined,  I  had  found 
him  rejoicing  in  good  conduct  and  efficiency  badges, 
and  acting  as  barrack-room  orderly.  The  excellent 
fellow  had  at  once  taken  me  under  his  protection,  and 
had  seen  me  through  the  first  three  weeks,  teaching 
me  the  rudiments  of  manual  and  platoon  exercises. 
He  was  not  a  little  proud  of  it.  I  was  "his  rooky." 

6 


82  Ordeal  by  Fire 

A  little  later  on  Bouillon  had  got  into  trouble.  He  had 
been  led  away  by  Lamalou,  and  mixed  up  in  some 
night  brawl,  and  had  lost  his  stripes  in  consequence. 
When  I  rejoined  the  company  I  had  been  able,  without 
causing  him  any  humiliation  to  get  him  attached  to  me 
as  batman  and  we  had  both  congratulated  ourselves  on 
our  understanding,  he  because  I  occasionally  gave  him 
a  tip  to  supplement  his  weekly  three  francs,  I  because 
my  kit  was  so  well  cared  for,  from  that  day  onwards. 

I  had  not  seen  him  since.  The  joy  of  having  found 
me  again  lit  up  his  face. 

He  said  insinuatingly: 

"If  only  you  could  get  me  into  your  section?" 

I  promised  to  try  and  arrange  the  matter  for  him 
shortly. 

"  That  chap  seems  very  much  attached  to  you, "  said 
Guillaumin.  .  . 

"Pooh!    He  hopes  to  get  some  money  out  of  me!" 

A  quartermaster-sergeant  who  had  re-enlisted 
accosted  us: 

"I  say,  you're  the  N.  C.  O.'s  of  the  22nd,  aren't  you? 
Come  and  get  changed:  Then  you.  can  lend  a  hand 
.  .  .  with  the  men!" 

We  followed  him  to  the  clothing-store  which  had 
been  installed  in  a  yard. 

An  officer  was  there,  a  sub-lieutenant  in  the  reserves, 
a  young  fellow  with  a  fine  head,  and  a  long  brown  mous- 
tache, which  he  twirled  mechanically.  We  reported 
ourselves  to  him.  He  timidly  asked  each  one  of  us 
what  our  profession  was. 

"That's  right!"  he  said  approvingly;  "quite  right. 
Yes!" 

There  was  a  superb  lot  of  regulation  trousers, 
tunics,  and  great-coats. 


New  Comrades  and  Old  83 

Guillaumin  marvelled  at  them. 

"Some  preparation — what! — in  spite  of  all  they 
say!" 

We  soon  found  what  we  wanted,  all  that  is,  except 
him,  whose  arms  were  so  long  as  to  be  out  of  all  pro- 
portion. 

We  laughed  at  his  build,  resembling  that  of  a 
monkey. 

"First-rate  for  bayonet  work!"  he  retorted. 

We  were  ready.  The  quarter-master  brought  us  a 
dozen  men. 

"The  first  batch!" 

A  nice  business  this:  these  two  hundred  fellows  to 
fit  out !  They  all  kept  coming  out  of  turn.  And  they 
weren't  a  bit  easy  to  manage,  as  they  did  not  care  a 
rap  for  us !  And  then  how  nice  and  easy  it  was  to  find 
one's  way  about  among  these  marks.  M  III,  G  II, 
E  IV.  .  .  . !  A  foul  dust  flew  out  of  the  piles  of 
clothing  which  were  lying  about,  out  of  the  heaps  of 
caps  which  had  come  undone.  .  .  .  And  the  stink 
of  these  people  in  their  shirt  sleeves !  .  .  .  Heavens ! 
I  did  the  best  thing  I  could  do  under  the  circumstances, 
and  bolted  surreptitiously. 

Having  got  over  the  railings  I  saluted  a  couple 
standing  on  the  pavement,  hand-in-hand.  Little 
Fremont  and  his  wife  whom  I  thought  insignificant- 
looking.  I  went  on,  but  was  not  displeased  at  the  idea 
of  his  being  in  the  22nd ;  one  more  pleasant  comrade. 

I  did  not  reappear  in  quarters  until  evening.  Guil- 
laumin at  once  warned  me  charitably  to  look  out !  I 
was  marked!  Descroix  and  Humel  had  soon  noticed 
my  disappearance  and  had  made  no  bones  about  re- 
porting me.  The  quartermaster  had  stormed  and 
raged;  a  regular  hullabaloo! 


84  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"What  does  it  matter!"  I  interrupted. 

I  saw,  however,  that  there  was  a  certain  amount  of 
danger  in  allowing  a  hostile  clan  to  form  itself  at  the 
very  beginning.  I  went  into  the  little  room  reserved 
for  us.  I  found  Descroix  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and 
offered  him  a  cigarette,  which  he  accepted.  Humel 
came  back,  and  we  joked.  Neither  of  them  uttered 
a  word  about  the  afternoon's  occurrence. 

However,  the  quartermaster-sergeant  came  to  tell 
me,  in  a  tone  that  I  did  not  half  like,  that  I  had  been 
warned  for  orderly  duty  at  the  gates. 

"Who  detailed  me?" 

"The  sergeant-major. " 

The  others  were  chuckling  inwardly.  I  made  the 
best  of  a  bad  job.  All  right!  My  turn  would  come 
in  time  no  doubt!  I  was  looking  for  the  necessary 
equipment  when  a  counter  order  arrived.  The 
guard  would  be  drawn  entirely  from  the  23rd  to-day. 

Still  better!  I  went  out  calmly,  taking  Guillaumin 
with  me.  Fremont  had  vanished.  We  met  De 
Valpic: 

"Are  you  coming  to  dine  with  us?" 

He  excused  himself.  Not  this  evening,  he  preferred 
to  rest. 

Rest  after  what?  His  refusal  shocked  me.  If  he 
was  going  to  refuse  to  associate  with  us,  he  would 
have  to  be  taken  down  a  peg. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

KNOCKS   AND   CONTACTS 

EACH  morning,  for  the  next  three  days,  we  got  part 
of  our  equipment.  The  quality  of  the  leather  goods 
was  excellent,  the  arms  were  in  first-rate  order,  the 
linen  clean  and  of  a  kind  to  wear  well.  There  were 
some  details  not  up  to  the  mark,  the  haversacks  were 
only  moderately  good,  most  of  the  water-bottles 
leaked  or  smelt  bad.  Bouillon,  however,  got  me  all 
I  wanted  in  the  way  of  new  things,  and  it  was,  thanks 
to  him  too,  that  the  battalion  cobbler  deigned  to  put 
nails  into  my  boots. 

In  the  afternoons  my  only  idea  was  to  "leg  it. " 

In  theory  we  were  not  allowed  out  until  after  five 
o'clock ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  our  stripes  over-awed 
the  sentry,  the  sergeant  in  charge  took  care  not  to  see 
us  on  condition,  of  course,  that  we  should  do  as  much 
for  him  sometime. 

Guillaumin  stayed  in  billets  for  the  first  two  days, 
hoping  to  make  himself  useful.  I  found  him  in  a 
state  of  exasperation  when  I  got  back  in  the  evening; 
they  had  made  no  use  of  him,  nor  of  the  men,  for 
that  matter.  ...  Oh  yes,  I  beg  your  pardon! 
They  had  not  stopped  sweeping  the  yard  all  afternoon. 
Then  at  four  o'clock  they  had  emptied  a  cart-load  of 
straw  out  on  to  it,  and  now  it  was  dirtier  than  ever ! 

85 


86  Ordeal  by  Fire 

His  obsession  for  the  time  being  was  this :  What  were 
they  waiting  for?  Why  didn't  they  take  us  on  the 
drill-ground  ?  Let  them  teach  us  our  trade  as  soldiers. 
To  think  we  were  going  to  fight  to-morrow ! 

Through  him  I  learnt  that  the  text-books  had  lately 
been  modified  on  several  essential  points.  I  enjoyed 
getting  a  rise  out  of  him. 

' '  Oh,  what  does  it  matter !  None  of  the  officers  have 
an  inkling  of  it." 

He  got  into  a  great  state  of  mind.  What  a  shame 
it  was  to  have  to  see  such  valuable  material  wasted. 
We  had  no  leaders. 

"In  the  22nd  anyhow!" 

We  were  agreed  on  that  point. 

Who  would  have  believed  that  our  captain  had  not 
yet  put  in  an  appearance,  though  his  arrival  had  been 
announced  several  times.  The  first  lieutenant  Dela- 
fosse,  a  middle-aged  man,  cold  and  correct,  confined 
himself  to  questions  of  administration.  As  for  the 
others,  Henriot,  whom  we  had  come  across  on  the 
first  day,  we  soon  placed  as  an  elementary  school- 
teacher. Yet  another  of  them!  Rather  a  refined- 
looking  man,  but  his  accent  left  much  to  be  desired. 
He  taught,  we  heard,  in  a  village  near  the  Meuse. 
He  meant  well  no  doubt,  but  was  woefully  lacking  in 
authority  and  initiative.  His  two  colleagues,  Des- 
croix  and  Humel,  had  soon  monopolised  him,  and 
were  hail-fellow-well-met  with  him.  He  made  himself 
very  pleasant  and  attentive  to  us,  and  was  obviously 
anxious  to  make  a  good  impression.  When  he  had  to 
give  an  order  he  seemed  apologetic  about  it: 

"I  refer  the  matter  to  you  .  .  ."  you  know  all 
about  that  as  well  as  I  do!" 

Ravelli,  the  battalion  sergeant-major,  a  good-look- 


Knocks  and  Contacts  87 

ing  dog,  who  had  been  decorated,  added  his  own  fail- 
ings to  those  indispensable  to  his  calling !  An  insuffer- 
able bounder!  Stupid  and  pretentious;  a  real  bad 
lot.  .  .  .  He  grovelled  to  the  officers  and  bullied 
the  men  shamefully.  He  did  not  quite  dare  to  attack 
us  openly,  and  we  could  see  he  appreciated  our  powers 
of  retaliation.  But  the  poor  poilus  in  the  ranks ! 

It  was  nothing  but  parades  and  roll-calls  and  in- 
spections with  this  low-bred  cur  at  their  heels  from 
morning  till  night,  an  endless  stream  of  fatigues.  The 
tactlessness  of  the  man!  The  Parisian  groused. 
Lamalou  already  refused  flatly  to  obey  him;  and 
Judsi  made  no  bones  about  exclaiming,  "The  bloody 
beast,  'e'd  better  look  out  for  'isself  w'en  we  get  our 
ammunition." 

Such  were  our  superior  officers.  The  trio  lacked 
breadth  of  mind.  Breton,  the  quartermaster-ser- 
geant was  acting  company  sergeant-major,  as  we  had 
not  a  pukka  one. 

Three  more  non-commissioned  officers  had  now 
been  added  to  the  company.  Hourcade,  a  bank 
clerk  in  civil  life,  a  dull  dog,  and  meticulous  to  a  fault. 
Belloeil,  a  butcher  from  Marais,  with  very  high  colour- 
ing,— a  good  sort,  so  obese  that  they  had  given  up 
trying  to  clothe  him.  He  declared  his  intention  of 
staying  behind  as  drill  sergeant  to  the  raw  recruits. 
And  lastly  Playoust.  He  was  a  character,  this 
Chartres  fishmonger.  A  fine  figure  of  a  man,  a  rake 
with  the  gift  of  the  gab,  he  was  addicted  to  "talking 
big, "  and  did  not  lack  a  sense  of  humour.  His  brag- 
ging amused  me.  A  gay  dog,  he  boasted  that  he 
accepted  .  .  .  hospitality  in  town  every  night, 
but  never  two  nights  from  the  same  hostess.  He 
assured  us  that  there  was  a  large  choice.  Where  on 


88  Ordeal  by  Fire 

earth?  .  .  .  Why  of  course  among  the  wives  of  the 
regulars  who  had  left  on  the  day  of  mobilisation. 

Guillaumin  had  not  much  taste  for  this  class  of 
bragging.  Nor  I,  for  that  matter,  but  I  recognised  in 
this  popular  cynicism  a  kindred  spirit  to  my  own. 
And  then  Playoust  made  up  to  me  and  always  liked  to 
count  me  among  his  audience  when  he  was  playing  the 
fool.  It  was  no  time  before  he  had  gained  a  singular 
hold  over  a  certain  set  of  our  comrades.  Were  we 
there  to  be  bored  ?  He  organised  ' '  manilles ' '  in  which 
Descroix  and  Humel  and  Hourcade  took  part  from 
the  beginning.  Quartermaster  Belloiel  took  a  hand 
when  wanted.  Guillaumin  loathed  cards.  As  to 
the  others  they  were  left  out  of  it.  I  was  never  asked 
to  make  a  fourth.  But  I  saw  that  it  was  in  my  own 
interest  to  remain  on  good  terms  with  the  whole  lot. 
.  .  .  There  did  not  seem  to  me  very  much  difficulty 
about  that;  ....  I  had  bought  cigars  to  give 
away.  I  wasted  a  whole  afternoon  in  this  colourless 
society.  Playoust  was  in  good  form  that  day.  We 
kept  up  a  cross-fire  of  witticisms,  he  and  I ....  It 
was  up  to  the  others  to  do  the  laughing.  Everything 
went  well! 

I  climbed  down  when  Guillaumin  came  to  me  that 
same  evening  much  against  his  will — for  he  hated 
telling  tales — to  give  me  a  friendly  warning. 

"You  look  out!    They  can't  stand  you!" 

"No!    Is  it  as  bad  as  all  that?" 

"  Quite.     It's  better  that  you  should  know  about  it. " 

"What  do  they  object  to  about  me?" 

"The  way  you  get  out  of  things,  and  shirk  the 
tiresome  jobs.  They  can't  stand  that.  Directly 
your  back  was  turned,  just  now,  they  exploded.  A 
regular  chorus!  It's  just  the  same  every  evening!" 


Knocks  and  Contacts  89 

"Descroix  and  Humel?"  I  asked  scornfully. 

"And  Playousttoo." 

"  Really !    You  don't  say  so ! " 

"He  most  of  all!" 

This  gave  me  something  to  think  about,  when  all 
the  time  I'd  been  looking  on  him  as  an  ally!  .  .  . 
I  thanked  Guillaumin  for  drawing  my  attention  to  it. 

"You  may  be  sure  I  stood  up  for  you, "  he  added. 

As  if  I  should  ever  have  doubted  it! 

I  examined  my  conscience ;  there  was  no  doubt  that 
I  had  been  to  blame  on  several  occasions ! 

Thereupon  I  altered  my  plan  of  attack! 

The  next  day  Playoust  happened  to  be  on  guard. 
He  was  obviously  frightfully  cut  up  at  having  to  fail 
a  particularly  lovely  lady.  I  offered  to  take  his 
place.  He  accepted  casually. 

"I'll  do  the  same  for  you  sometime,  old  boy !" 

"Right  you  are!" 

In  the  morning  I  had  already  suggested  taking 
charge  of  a  fatigue  party  of  some  sort.  Descroix  had 
exclaimed : 

"Nonsense,  it  can't  be  true!  Dreher  who  never 
stirs  a  foot." 

"  It's  about  time  he  took  his  turn, "  said  Humel. 

Never  mind!  I  quite  thought  I  should  succeed 
in  disarming  them  partially. 

At  the  same  time  I  judged  it  expedient  to  tighten 
the  bonds  between  us,  the  four  old  pupils.  I  busied 
myself  about  it  without  much  success. 

Fre'mont  was  the  pleasant  comrade  he  had  always 
been.  But  in  voice  and  gesture  and  outlook  he 
still  retained  a  certain  something  which  was  extraor- 
dinarily infantile,  and  rather  took  one  aback.  He  was 
extremely  young  in  mind  too.  A  Doctor  of  Sci- 


QO  Ordeal  by  Fire 

ence  at  the  age  of  twenty-three  and  an  honours 
man  he  took  no  interest  in  anything  outside  his 
speciality.  He  was  particularly  unresponsive  on  the 
subjects  of  art  and  philosophy  which  I  was  particu- 
larly fond  of  discussing. 

Besides  he  was  living  in  a  dream.  Though  present 
at  every  parade,  he  deserved  every  time — as  Guillau- 
min  threatened  him,  with  a  laugh — to  be  reported  as 
absent. 

"Oh,  these  young  husbands!'' 

He  waited  until  the  regulation  time  to  go  out,  but 
then  he  lost  no  time  in  getting  through  the  gate.  His 
wife  had  come  to  fetch  him,  and  they  went  off  arm  in 
arm.  One  met  nobody  but  them  in  town,  all  evening. 
Why  couldn't  they  shut  themselves  up?  I  knew  they 
had  hired  a  room.  Yes,  Guillaumin  explained  to  me, 
but  they  did  not  have  the  use  of  it  till  eight  o'clock. 
Poor  lovers!  The  fact  remains  that  their  idyl,  in  a 
fair  way  to  become  the  talk  of  the  whole  regiment,  got 
on  my  nerves ! 

As  for  De  Valpic,  it  must  be  admitted  that  he  was 
rather  an  eccentric  being.  His  manners  were  per- 
fection. On  coming  into  contact  with  him  one  felt 
that  he  was  unusually  cultured,  not  to  say,  erudite. 
He  would  embark  on  a  discussion  with  great  gusto 
.  .  .  but  it  would  suddenly  come  to  a  premature 
close.  He  used  to  pretend  to  give  way  suddenly 
before  your  arguments.  I  say  pretend  because  you 
felt  that  he  had  others  in  reserve.  Was  it  the  disdain 
of  a  great  gentleman  for  our  bourgeois  dialectics? 
The  supposition  warred  with  his  entire  absence  of  side. 
But  I  had  nevertheless  to  adhere  to  it.  He  so  care- 
fully avoided  all  attempts  to  force  his  intimacy.  It 
was  impossible  to  persuade  him  to  take  a  meal  with  us. 


Knocks  and  Contacts  91 

And  yet  he  could  hardly  be  called  a  sybarite  when  he 
dined  at  the  best  hotel  in  the  place.  He  professed  to 
be  on  a  special  diet.  Was  he  ill?  Perhaps.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  did  not  look  very  robust ....  I 
questioned  him  discreetly.  He  reddened  and  got  out 
of  it  by  answering  vaguely: 

"Digestion!  ..." 

What  is  certain  is  that  he  was  of  a  particularly 
lazy  disposition.  His  least  busy  day  he  spent  stretched 
out  at  full  length,  his  head  leaning  against  his  valise,  his 
legs  in  a  rug  which  he  had  brought ;  quite  idle,  with  his 
eyes  open.  This  attitude  drew  upon  him,  besides 
Playoust's  quips,  the  animosity  of  the  company  ser- 
geant-major who,  sticking  his  nose  in  at  the  door, 
would  call  him  slyly: 

"Halloa  there!  De  Valpic!  As  you're  doing 
nothing!" 

Guillaumin  continued  to  be  my  only  intimate  com- 
panion. I  did  not  tell  any  one  but  him  of  my  discovery 
of  a  hay-loft  looking  over  the  Principal's  garden.  He 
soon  got  in  the  habit  of  coming  there  often  to  join 
me.  It  became  our  headquarters, 

I  now  succeeded  in  persuading  him  to  go  about  the 
town  with  me.  We  hardly  left  each  other's  side. 
In  the  evening  he  accompanied  me  to  the  door  of  the 
hotel  where  I  had  been  able  to  find  a  room,  and  he 
went  back  to  sleep  on  the  straw.  I  had  thought  of 
asking  him  to  share  my  bed;  but  how  embarrassing  for 
both  of  us!  He  would  no  doubt  have  refused. 

F seemed  quite  commonplace.  I  had  seen  it 

look  pretty  much  the  same  each  time  the  Division 
assembled  for  manoeuvres. 

There  was  the  same  stream  of  red  trousers  rolling 
through  the  streets  at  all  hours,  besieging  the  "pubs, " 


92  Ordeal  by  Fire 

and  rifling  the  grocers'  shops  and  bazaars,  the  shop- 
keepers' one  idea  being  to  exploit  the  reservists  whose 
pockets  were  usually  well-lined.  The  windows  decked 
with  bunting  suggested  the  idea  of  an  eve  of  the  four- 
teenth of  July,  or  of  a  visit  from  the  President. 

The  atmosphere  was  as  calm  as  possible.  Those  who 
had  expected  riots,  or  a  revolution !  I  only  remember 
one  incident.  The  report  spread  one  afternoon  that 
a  spy  had  been  discovered  and  arrested  at  the  station. 
...  In  five  minutes  a  crowd  was  shouting  in  front 
of  the  police-station  where  the  transgressor,  or  trans- 
gressors— they  talked  now  of  three  or  four! — had 
been  taken  and  put  under  arrest.  Policemen  were 
guarding  the  door.  We  waited  for  half  an  hour  amid 
the  growing  feverishness.  When  they  came  out 
there  was  an  outcry  and  a  rush ....  The  shame- 
ful fury  of  crowds!  ...  I  caught  sight  of  the  two 
poor  wretches,  a  man  and  a  woman,  little  puny, 
terrified  creatures.  A  motor  took  them  away. 
They  were  both  cowering  under  the  menace  of  raised 
walking-sticks. 

The  sight  had  irritated  me.  It  was  easy  to  say 
spies !  I  thought  of  our  compatriots,  caught  unawares 
in  Germany.  It  might  have  happened  to  me.  I  was 
there  at  the  time  of  the  Agadir  trouble.  I  teased 
Guillaumin  who  had  been  as  bad  as  the  rest.  He 
admitted  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  but  it  was 
too  much  for  him.  The  Bosches.  The  filthy  Bosches ! 

The  lead  had  been  heaved  and  soundings  taken. 
All  these  people  hid  the  sacred  passion  beneath  their 
calm  exterior.  They  were  right.  This  nation  had 
risen  to  butcher  us.  Between  them  and  us  a  war  of 
extermination  was  beginning .... 

And  I  could  so  easily  have  forgotten  it! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   EXISTING   STATE   OF  MIND 

THE  Paris  papers  came  regularly;  several  editions 
every  day,  but  we  were  no  longer  so  ravenous  for  this 
type  of  nourishment.  When  once  the  period  of 
anxiety  concerning  Belgium's  resistance  and  the 
intervention  of  England  was  over,  we  almost  lost 
interest  in  the  rest,  yes,  even  in  the  first  engagements 
in  Lorraine,  where  our  men  won  such  a  glorious  name 
for  themselves.  We  felt  that  nothing  of  importance 
would  take  place  for  ten  days  or  a  fortnight. 

Our  chief  anxiety  was  to  know  what  they  would  do 
with  us. 

The  general  opinion  was  that  we  would  be  in  the 
second  line  (Reservists.  The  idea!),  that  we  would 
only  look  on  from  afar  at  the  first  terrible  encounters. 
.  .  .  When  the  regulars  were  put  out  of  action,  yes, 
then  it  would  be  our  turn  to  take  the  field.  But  it 
was  quite  possible  that  the  war  would  already  be 
well  advanced. 

What  day  should  we  leave?  And  what  would  our 
destination  be? 

Outlandish  rumours  were  in  circulation.  They 
were  hailed  with  a  smile,  and  passed  on  in  fun,  but  we 
ended  by  believing  them.  What  did  we  know  about 
it?  The  "tips"  always  came  from  such  high-placed 

93 


94  Ordeal  by  Fire 

officials,  generals,  or  station-masters.  One  persistent 
rumour  was  that  we  were  to  be  sent  to  Le  Havre,  and 
from  there  shipped  .  .  .  to  what  port  do  you  think? 
You'd  never  guess,  however  long  you  went  on  trying! 
To  Bremen !  A  landing  party !  Heavens,  we  stopped 
at  nothing,  with  the  British  fleet  behind  us !  Accord- 
ing to  another  version  we  were  to  form  part  of  a 
reserve  force  concentrated  at  Goetquidam  Brittany! 
The  drawback  was  that  we  ran  the  risk  of  not  seeing 
anything ! 

Morale !  What  a  strange  factor  it  is  in  deciding  the 
fate  of  nations !  I  failed  to  take  it  into  account  now. 
This  uncertainty  weighed  on  me.  I  sounded  my 
companions. 

"Look  here,  how  do  you  think  things  are  going 
.  .  .  all  right?" 

"What!" 

My  question  astounded  them.  On  looking  back  it 
seems  to  me  obvious  that  an  insane  optimism  held 
sway.  What  could  the  Central  Powers  do  against 
this  gigantic  coalition.  The  Kaiser  had  lost  his  head ! 
Driven  by  the  "junker"  party,  he  was  risking  his  all 
in  a  fit  of  despair. 

How  long  would  it  go  on  for?  The  figure  quoted 
was  three  months. 

Three  months,  I  said  to  myself:  three  months! 

Fate  might  decide  that  our  army  corps,  our  regi- 
ment, was  not  to  be  engaged  more  than  once  or 
twice.  .  .  .  There  would  be  some  rough  knocks 
to  put  up  with!  But  what  of  that?  Lots  would 
come  through!  For  those  who  did  it  would  be 
curiously  interesting  to  look  on  at  the  reconstruction 
of  the  world  which  would  follow.  .  .  .  Would 
life  be  any  the  better  for  it?  Yes.  In  what  way? 


The  Existing  State  of  Mind        95 

I  did  not  know.  But  I  was  firmly  convinced  of 
it. 

In  Guillaumin  I  had  a  surprising  source  of  high 
spirits  and  enthusiasm.  He  lived  in  a  state  of  exalta- 
tion. He  was  the  only  one  to  read  between  the  lines, 
in  the  daily  reports,  endless  sensational  pieces  of  news, 
extraordinarily  favourable  to  us,  withheld,  he  said, 
through  an  excess  of  modesty. 

"They're  afraid  the  public  might  lose  their  heads. " 

If  I  pretended  to  be  alarmed : 

"What's  become  of  the  concentration?  Look  at 
all  the  regulars  that  are  about  still!" 

He  retorted  with: 

"My  dear  fellow,  they're  getting  two  days  ahead 
of  the  estimates." 

He  had  been  to  the  station.  He  had  seen  any 
amount  of  trains  passing  crammed  with  troops  and 
war  material .  .  .  . !  An  inconceivable  number  of 
big  guns,  and  ammunition  waggons,  and  gun  carriages ! 
A  store  of  unsuspected  riches ! 

Our  staff?  Was  admirable.  Joffre,  the  great 
strategist,  who  left  nothing  to  chance.  Pau,  the 
soldier  whom  the  Germans  feared  more  than  any  one, 
De  Castelnau !  Since  he  had  made  it  his  career  despite 
his  opinions ! 

The  Government?  Perfection.  Viviani,  the  right 
man  in  the  right  place;  the  strong  and  many-sided 
genius  that  was  needed.  How  fine, — and  what  a 
clever  move — his  letter  to  Madame  Jaures  had  been ! 
The  results  of  it  were  this  solidity,  and  absolute 
unanimity;  the  rising  en  masse  of  the  peaceful  oper- 
atives, the  internationalists  of  yesterday,  claiming 
for  their  great  country  the  right  to  live  and  be 
respected. 


96  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Guillaumin  knew  the  text  of  the  different  official 
declarations  and  proclamations  by  heart;  he  recited 
scraps  of  them  to  me. 

"Glorious!    What!" 

It  was  not  an  assumed  excitement.  I  sounded  him. 
He  really  was  delighted  to  be  going.  It  was  the 
ingenuous  wish  for  the  unexpected  and  for  adventure 
in  one  who  led  the  most  dreary  of  lives  as  a  civilian. 
And  the  need  to  expend  himself  in  a  cause  he  felt  was 
just.  He  did  not  need  much  urging  to  bring  out  such 
big  words  as  Duty  and  Patriotism ! ! 

His  fervour  both  lowered  him  and  raised  him  in  my 
estimation.  On  one  side  I  was  inclined  to  place  him 
in  the  class  of  credulous  boobies,  like  the  young  fool 
of  a  lawyer's  clerk  I  had  met  in  the  railway  carriage. 
At  the  same  time  he  gave  me  an  example  of  moral 
warmth  and  vigour  preferable  to  my  frivolity. 

He  alone  seemed  changed  by  these  formidable  cir- 
cumstances. He  was  thrilled.  I  should  like  to  have 
been  thrilled. 

What  made  the  Descroix  and  Humels  so  unbearable 
to  me  was  their  peace-time  point  of  view.  The  way 
they  spent  hour  after  hour  playing  stupid  card  games, 
taking  no  interest  in  anything  else!  It  was  beyond 
me,  and  it  worried  me.  They  would  not  be  the  ones  to 
save  France! 

(Should  I  be!  !  !) 

Guillaumin  reassured  me. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that!  You  keep  your 
eye  on  the  poilus.  That's  all  that  matters ! " 

I  tossed  my  head.  My  men  ?  What  could  I  know 
about  them? 

I  had  thirty-three  roughs  under  me,  squads  1 1  and 
12.  Guillaumin  had  the  same  number,  squads  9  and 


The  Existing  State  of  Mind        97 

10;  Lieutenant  Henriot  was  in  command  of  the 
platoon. 

Up  to  now,  I  had  tried  only  to  avoid  being  unpopu- 
lar. I  thought  I  was  succeeding  in  it.  I  relied  en- 
tirely on  my  corporals,  Bouguet  and  Donnadieu,  who 
were  well  up  in  their  job. 

Chance  had  thrown  together  in  my  section,  Judsi 
and  Lamalou,  the  two  scoundrels  whom  I  have  already 
mentioned,  among  the  stolid  Beaucerons  who  were  all 
so  much  alike  that  they  might  have  been  brothers. 
They  were  a  scurvy  couple.  They  had  already  been 
caught  by  a  patrol  one  night  in  town,  and  brought 
back  drunk,  shouting  and  storming,  and  had  been  in 
such  a  dangerous  mood  next  day  that  Henriot  had  not 
dared  to  haul  them  over  the  coals  for  it. 

The  impressions  I  had  retained  of  the  few  weeks  once 
spent  on  a  company,  before  going  to  the  "Peloton, " 
the  one  occasion  in  which  I  had  come  into  contact  for  a 
short  period  with  the  lower  classes,  were  these:  The 
barrack  was  a  den  of  wild  beasts,  and  the  peasants 
real  brutes.  The  fact  that  the  one  thing  they  looked 
forward  to  was  Sunday  when  they  could  drink  them- 
selves stupid,  made  them  lower  even  than  the  animals. 
Beyond  that  the  only  thing  that  had  worried  me  was 
the  "  promiscuousness. "  The  days  of  ragging  were 
over;  I  was  free  with  my  cigarettes  and  "drinks." 
I  could  always  find  someone  ready  to  take  my  fatigues 
for  me  for  the  sake  of  a  sixpence,  and  ever  since  then 
Bouillon  had  been  my  guardian  angel.  It  did  not 
matter  how  much  this  pleb  was  looked  down  on ! 

Attached  to  my  original  company  during  the  man- 
oeuvres, reports  had  reached  the  ears  of  the  reserve 
officer  to  the  effect  that  I  was  already  well  up  in 
my  work,  and  I  had  at  once  been  made  a  non- 


98  Ordeal  by  Fire 

commissioned  officer,  a  distant  and  unapproachable 
being. 

My  energetic  "command"  ensured  my  authority, 
on  the  drill-ground  at  all  events.  Elsewhere?  .  .  . 
There  was  no  elsewhere.  As  for  taking  a  personal 
interest  in  each  of  the  men,  and  searching  into,  and 
investigating  their  characters,  as  Guillaumin  tried  to 
induce  me,  and  forced  himself  to  do, — the  idea  had 
never  entered  my  head.  To-day  it  seemed  an  idle 
fancy  outside  the  realms  of  realisation.  I  felt  that 
this  mass  of  men  was  too  remote  from,  and,  in  all 
probability,  hostile  to  us.  No,  they  did  not  count  at 
all  as  individual  souls !  I  listened  to  Guillaumin  as  he 
extolled  their  sound  good  sense,  and  sturdy  morale. 
It  was  too  much  to  ask  of  this  poor  food  for  cannons. 

But  one  thing  struck  me,  nevertheless;  the  small,  the 
infinitesimal  number  of  men  who  "groused."  Not  a 
sign  of  "shirkers. "  It  was  astounding  to  me  to  note, 
in  the  days  that  followed,  how  this  spirit  had  spread. 
I  did  not  see  any  great  enthusiasm,  but  rather  deter- 
mination, or  perhaps  it  was  resignation.  There  was 
at  all  events,  no  reluctance,  no  little  underhand  plots, 
elaborated  with  a  view  to  remaining  at  the  depot.  I 
have  quoted  our  friend  Belloeil;  but  even  he  would 
willingly  have  gone  with  us,  I  think,  but  for  his  asthma, 
which  made  him  pant  like  a  seal,  merely  at  having  to 
go  up  into  billets. 

One  drama,  I  remember,  caused  a  sensation:  a  re- 
servist who  had  thrown  himself  successively  through 
a  window,  under  a  cart,  and  under  a  train.  He  was 
hard  to  kill,  that  fellow! 

How  set  he  was  on  doing  away  with  himself!  At 
the  inquest,  a  letter  which  had  been  discovered  es- 
tablished the  fact  that  the  only  motive  for  this  act 


The  Existing  State  of  Mind        99 

had  been  .  .  .  fear.  Yes,  simply  the  stupid  fear 
of  going  to  the  front.  .  .  .  Poor  wretch.  What 
a  fine  funeral  ovation  they  gave  him.  Good-for- 
nothing,  rotter,  and  funk  were  the  mildest  terms 
employed.  If  he  had  accounted  for  a  Bosche,  his 
skin  would  have  been  of  some  use. 

On  the  fourth  day,  Friday,  the  order  arrived  in 
the  morning  to  assemble  for  field-parade. 

Guillaumin  was  triumphant. 

"  There  now,  you  see !  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  They're 
coming  all  right — even  to  us!" 

The  men  were  taking  their  valises.  And  what 
about  us;  no,  we  agreed  not  to. 

We  started  off.  A  fig  for  marching  at  attention! 
That  was  not  expected  of  us.  We  followed  the  rail- 
way lines.  A  train  was  just  passing,  the  carriages 
decorated  with  flowers.  Soldiers  were  laughing  at 
the  windows. 

The  iO4th  Argentan. 

"  Halloa,  you  chaps !  Wait  for  us!  We're  going 
on  foot  to  have  a  look  at  the  Bosches!"  Judsi  shouted. 

We  halted  farther  on  in  a  field  by  the  roadside. 
Suddenly  a  whistle  was  blown,  and  the  word  was 
passed  round  that  the  captain  was  there ! 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  we  were  formed  up  again 
and  got  into  line  as  well  as  might  be. 

Delafosse,  the  first  lieutenant,  gave  the  order : 

"Present  .    .    .  arms!" 

Captain  Ribet  rode  up,  mounted  on  a  beautiful  grey 
mare.  He  was  a  tall  spare  man  with  a  crisp  moustache 
and  very  bright  eyes.  An  ex-officer  in  the  regulars ;  we 
knew  he  had  retired  when  quite  young  after  having 
won  the  legion  d'honneur. 


ioo  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  saluted,  and  without  any  preliminaries  pointed 
imperiously  at  the  first  section. 

"Skirmishing  order,"  he  shouted. 

We  had  about  fifty  yards  to  cover  at  a  double. 

"Kneel!" 

We  knelt  down. 

"Advance!" 

We  stood  erect,  and  then  immediately  had  to 
operate  a  change  of  front.  The  words  of  command 
and  evolutions  followed  each  other  in  rapid  and  varied 
succession.  The  captain  gave  the  order  and  looked 
on  coldly  at  the  execution  of  it  without  uttering  a 
word.  We  all  lacked  enthusiasm  but  it  did  not  go 
badly,  all  the  same.  Our  covering  sergeants  knew 
what  they  were  about,  and  Henriot  slipped  in  the 
necessary  explanations.  I  acquitted  myself  passably 
in  my  thankless  role  of  supernumerary.  The  men 
charged  and  deployed,  and  then  returned  to  their 
first  formation,  their  movements  facilitated  by  their 
long  experience  in  former  days.  During  the  short 
intervals  of  respite,  reflections  were  heard : 

"How's  that  for  manoeuvres!" 

"We  are  having  a  dose. " 

At  last  arms  were  piled  and  while  the  men  amused 
themselves  by  pulling  otit  pipes  or  chunks  of  bread, 
the  captain  blew  his  whistle  again. 

"The  non-commissioned  officers!" 

The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  find  fault  with  us. 

"Why  haven't  you  got  your  valises?" 

The  subaltern  opened  his  mouth.    .    .    . 

"That  will  do.     We'll  consider  it  as  said!" 

He  had  a  few  words  of  praise  for  the  way  we  drilled. 

"There  was  a  little  hesitation  in  the  third  though. " 

"Among  us!  really!" 


The  Existing  State  of  Mind       101 

He  added  a  few  commonplace  remarks  on  our 
duties  which  played  such  an  important  part  in  the 
field.  We  must  prove  the  value  of  the  material  en- 
trusted to  us.  It  was  for  us  to  make  the  most  of 
it. 

Seizing  the  opportunity  afforded  by  a  brief  silence, 
Playoust  thought  he  might  ask  him  what  the  probable 
date  of  our  departure  would  be.  .  .  .  Sunday  was 
talked  of. 

"I  am  not  here  to  answer  questions,  Sergeant!" 

He  warned  us  that  he  would  inspect  us  next  morning 
at  nine  o'clock. 

"Service  marching  orders.  Ready  to  leave.  And 
mind  you  see  that  nothing  is  missing!" 

He  dismissed  us  with  a  salute. 

Directly  we  had  got  away  Guillaumin  exclaimed: 

"A  queer  fish  that!" 

"You  like  him?" 

"Yes,  I  do.     It's  men  like  that  that  we  want!" 

I  protested.  My  impression  of  him,  on  the  con- 
trary was  an  unpleasant  one.  Who  did  the  man  think 
he  was,  to  treat  us  as  little  boys  ? 

When  we  got  back  into  quarters,  I  made  fun  of  the 
sudden  zeal  consuming  my  comrades.  The  prospect 
of  this  inspection  next  day  scared  them.  Each  one 
rushed  off  to  put  his  men  on  their  mettle.  Guillaumin 
especially  was  quite  off  his  chump.  I,  for  my  part, 
contented  myself  with  warning  my  corporals  that 
everything  must  be  in  order  at  the  time  fixed!  I 
should  hold  them  responsible ! 

That  done,  I  did  not  worry  any  more !  I  spent  the 
afternoon  resting  in  my  hay-loft. 

The  best  of  it  was  that  I  was  sergeant  of  the  day. 
I  ought  to  have  gone  and  put  myself  at  the  disposi- 


iO2  Ordeal  by  Fire 

tion  of  the  adjutant.  Bah!  He  could  do  without 
me,  without  the  world  coming  to  an  end. 

My  predecessor,  Belloeil,  had  told  me  that  I  should 
have  to  take  the  men  who  had  been  given  orders  the 
day  before  to  the  barracks  on  the  stroke  of  five  o'clock. 
They  would  draw  their  pay  there,  and  I  should  coun- 
tersign the  register ....  The  list  was  handed  over 
to  me.  They  watched  for  me  at  the  exit,  but  I 
arranged  to  escape  them;  De  Valpic  would  take  them 
to-morrow. 

One  of  them  accosted  me  in  the  town;  I  snubbed 
him,  and  he  went  off  cursing  and  swearing.  Guil- 
laumin  blamed  me  for  it. 

"Poor  fellow!  Suppose  he  had  some  purchase  to 
make!" 

"Oh  rot!  I'm  doing  him  a  good  turn;  he'll  drink 
a  drop  less  than  usual,  that's  all!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT   THE   GLOBE   CAFE 

WE  got  there  early.  Nearly  all  the  old  "Peloton" 
lot  were  to  meet  there  that  evening.  The  large  room 
at  the  back  had  been  put  at  our  disposal. 

Punch  was  served  to  everyone.  Toasts  were  drunk 
half  as  a  rag.  There  was  a  tap-room  atmosphere. 
Everyone  was  in  uproarious  spirits — feverish  with 
the  excitement  of  the  departure  which  was  so  close 
at  hand.  A  school-master  named  Groningaire  start- 
ed off  with  a  song — he  had  a  good  voice — then 
some  patriotic  verses,  while  we  sang  the  refrain  in 
chorus. 

Miquel  went  to  the  piano. 
"Go  it!     Play  us  something!" 
He  was  known  to  be  a  performer. 
"What  style  do  you  want?" 
"Oh,  anything!     Improvise  something!" 
"The  'Battle,'  g-r-r-r-r-r  and  symphony!" 
There  was  a  general  laugh.     He  sat  down  on  the 
music  stool. 

"First  part.     Four  o'clock  in  the  morning." 
His  fingers  raced  over  the  keys.     A  running  ac- 
companiment in  the  bass  suggested  the  army  sleeping. 
A  high  note,  the  bugle  call,  suddenly   burst  forth 
followed  instantaneously  by  shouts,  the  stir  of  troops 

103 


104  Ordeal  by  Fire 

awakening  and  moving  to  and  fro,  and  the  neighing  of 
horses.    .    .    . 
"Bravo!" 

Reminiscences  no  doubt  of  melodies  he  had  com- 
posed or  learnt.  His  rare  skill  soldered  them  into  a 
sort  of  pot-pourri,  which  was  at  the  same  time  both 
genial  and  burlesque.  He  jerked  out  the  titles  of 
motifs :  the  start  at  dawn,  the  approach  of  the  enemy, 
the  deployment,  then  the  surprise  of  the  first  shots,  the 
scattering,  and  the  reply .  .  .  .  The  pianist's  fancy 
multiplied  and  expanded,  painting  an  extraordinary 
picture.  In  the  left  hand,  the  cannon  rumbled  cease- 
lessly in  hollow  tones.  In  the  treble  a  frenzy  of 
staccato  notes  crackled  like  a  fusillade.  Between  the 
two,  smothered  vociferations,  and  the  trampling  of 
the  combatants  could  be  distinguished.  To  end  up 
with  there  was  the  charge,  swelling  harmonies,  and  a 
roar  of  glory  and  madness,  throughout  which  frag- 
ments of  the  famous  "La  Goutte  d  boire  I  I  I"  re- 
curred persistently. 

Miquel  paused.     There  was  a  burst  of  applause. 
"Hush!  "he  said.     "Wait  for  the  day  after.    .    ." 
He  struck  a  minor  chord,  succeeded  by  two  or  three 
others,  equally  lugubrious,  a  gloomy  arpeggio  strength- 
ened the  impression  of  mourning.    .    .    .     The  day 
after!  yes.     There  was  a  slight  shudder.     I  recog- 
nised Beethoven's  Funeral  March. 

"  How  idiotic !    What  are  you  playing  that  for  ? " 
Denais  had  got  up,  and  was  drawing  his  hand  across 
his  forehead.     Then  embarrassed  by  our  glances  he 
forced  a  wry  smile. 

"Rotting  apart,  it's  not  exactly  cheerful!" 
A   few   backed   him   up.     Others    shrugged   their 
shoulders.     A   discussion   began  which   degenerated 


At  the  Globe  Cafe  105 

into  an  uproar.  Laraque  took  possession  of  the  piano 
and  romped  through  a  "tango"  which  was  applauded. 
Miquel  was  called  upon  again;  but  he  refused  point 
blank  this  time,  and  it  was  not  very  long  before  he 
left,  perhaps  because  he  was  offended. 

Then  Guillaumin  and  I  went  to  swell  a  group  which 
had  formed  in  a  corner,  round  Fortin,  who  was  hold- 
ing forth. 

A  robust  fellow,  with  an  enormous  forehead,  and  a 
clever,  ugly  face,  he  was  repeating  the  lessons  he  had 
just  brought  back  from  Germany  where  he  had  been 
living  for  some  time.  His  rich  voice  carried  wonder- 
fully, supported  by  his  energetic  gestures.  A  fre- 
quenter of  public  meetings  and  debating  societies, 
one  was  tempted  to  forgive  him  if  he  was  rather  in- 
clined to  like  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  because  he 
spoke  well. 

To  begin  with,  however,  I  only  half  listened  to  him. 
He  was  enlarging  upon  the  industrial  qualities  of  that 
race,  their  method,  and  patience,  and  tenacity  of 
purpose,  their  thoroughness  in  perfecting  detail;  on 
their  moral  virtues  too,  from  which  the  others  sprang. 

This  sort  of  thing  had  been  overdone!  However  at 
such  a  time  it  assumed  a  striking  note  of  unexpected- 
ness and  daring.  This  Frenchman  obviously  over- 
flowed with  sympathy,  or  at  all  events  admiration  for 
the  foe  he  was  about  to  face ....  And  not  one  of 
us  protested.  .  .  .  What  impartiality,  I  thought. 
.  Was  it  to  our  credit,  or  discredit  ? 

I  now  followed  the  speaker's  arguments  with  inter- 
est. He  occasionally  spoke  so  decidedly  and  precisely 
that  I  suspected  him  of  dishing  up  for  our  benefit  cer- 
tain passages  already  composed  for  the  work  he  was 
meditating. 


io6  Ordeal  by  Fire 

On  the  other  hand  one  had  the  feeling  that  one  was 
not  the  dupe  of  a  rhetorician.  I  was  able  when  neces- 
sary to  verify  the  exactitude  of  his  statements  by  my 
own  recollections. 

Here  he  was  sketching  the  portrait  of  the  young 
German,  steady  and  strong,  accustomed  from  his 
earliest  childhood  to  long  walks  with  his  pack  on  his 
back,  his  first  attempts  at  warlike  frolics,  keen  on 
swimming,  shooting,  and  gymnastics,  more  sporting 
in  reality  than  we  were  who  had  been  won  over  to  the 
rough  games  from  over  the  channel.  They  were 
chaste  too  and  had  no  false  shame  about  admitting  it; 
not  exhausted,  depraved,  and  indeed  contaminated,  as 
a  result  of  the  stupid  dissipation  which  we  appear  to 
think  necessary  for  our  young  men.  I  could  see  the 
companions  of  my  excursions  round  Ie*na  again, — 
Otto  Kraemer,  merry,  affectionate,  and  untiring — and 
so  virtuous — questioning  me  with  an  innocent  smile, 
quite  free  of  any  suspicion  of  envy,  on  the  pleasures  of 
Paris. 

Fortin  showed  us  how  war  had  become  inevitable 
for  these  people.  Since  they  were  suffocating  at 
home !  They  were  a  prolific  race ;  that  was  their  fore- 
most merit.  The  necessity  and  also  the  capacity  for 
expansion  in  a  country  which  in  forty  years  doubles 
it's  population!  There  was  the  fruitful  young  sap. 
To  them  belonged  the  future. 

We  were  listening,  silent  and  engrossed,  leaning  on 
our  elbows.  .  .  .  Ladmiraut  demanded  some  de- 
tail from  time  to  time.  He  had  pulled  out  his  note- 
book. Guillaumin,  who  was  beside  me,  seemed  to  be 
the  only  one  who  could  not  listen  to  this  language  with- 
out impatience;  he  strummed  nervously  on  the  marble 
table-top. 


At  the  Globe  Cafe  107 

Fortin  went  on  to  say  that  over  there  it  was  the 
entire  populace  from  the  Kaiser  down  to  the  last  of 
the  beggars,  who  dreamt  of  the  greater  Germany. 
.  .  .  The  fateful  hear  had  struck.  .  .  .  He  re- 
minded us  of  the  saying  where  the  five  sons  of  the 
German  family  came  to  demand  a  share  of  his  heritage 
from  the  only  son  of  the  French  family.  We  cer- 
tainly had  no  luck  in  just  happening  to  be  the  neigh- 
bours and  thus  the  picked  adversaries  of  this  terribly 
covetous  race,  and  in  holding  so  many  rich  provinces 
that  they  meant  to  annex  again  in  the  name  of  ancient 
traditions  for  the  Germanic  Empire !  Any  schoolboy 
coming  from  Germany  would  tell  you  of  their  ambi- 
tions. To  begin  with  they  must  have  what  remained 
to  us  of  Lorraine  and  Champagne  and  Flanders,  they'd 
see  about  Burgundy  and  the  Franche-Comte',  when 
the  occasion  arose ! 

"Then  you  think  we  shall  be  beaten?"  Guillaumin 
broke  in  harshly. 

It  was  like  a  cold  douche,  we  looked  at  each  other. 
Fortin  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders. 

"I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  I  think,  and  that  is  that 
we're  fighting  in  a  cause  .  .  .  that  is  out  of  date. 
We  no  longer  incarnate  a  great  force  worthy  of  exist- 
ence. Our  day  is  nearly  done.  Just  think  how  long 
we  have  held  the  stage.  Mark  you,  I  do  not  say  that 
our  end  will  not  be  glorious.  We  are  an  old  fighting 
race,  we  shall  do  wonders,  I  think,  before  succumbing. 
Nor  do  I  say  that  our  decline  is  not  to  be  regretted  in 
the  superior  interests  of  civilisation .  .  .  ." 

"Then  you  see  no  hope  of  anything  but  decline 
and  disappearance!" 

Guillaumin's  face  was  kindled,  his  big  nose  shone, 
his  hand  was  clutching  at  a  match  stand. 


io8  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Sss  .  .  .  !  I  say.  Chuck  it  at  his  head!" 
whispered  Holveck. 

Someone  laughed,  and  there  was  a  short  relaxation. 

I  did  not  take  my  eyes  off  Fortin,  wondering  whether 
he  would  accept  the  challenge. 

And  he  actually  did!  He  made  up  his  mind  to  it. 
It  was  a  thankless  task,  he  said,  to  go  against  all  our 
prejudices  and  cherished  illusions.  But  still,  if  he 
was  driven  to  it.  .  .  .  And  perhaps  it  would  be 
better  that  we  should  realise  what  we  were  in  for!  .  .  . 

"Yes,  start  away  then!"  Guillaumin  exclaimed. 
"Tell  us  what  you  think  and  what  you  know!" 

What  he  knew?  The  other  protested  that  he  was 
not  admitted  to  the  secrets  of  the  gods,  that  he  was 
lacking  in  the  necessary  technical  knowledge  concern- 
ing military  matters,  but  that  what  he  feared  from 
certain  reliable  data,  was  the  " kolossal"  force — the 
word  is  laughable,  not  the  thing  it  stands  for — of  this 
horde  of  invaders  about  to  fall  upon  us.  People  in 
France  reassured  themselves  by  the  aid  of  simplex 
calculations.  They  summarily  compared  the  figures 
of  the  population,  with  the  triumphant  argument  that 
the  enemy  must  put  so  and  so  many  men  on  the  Rus- 
sian front.  ...  As  if  there  was  not  an  immense 
gulf  fixed  between  the  actual  and  the  theoretical 
returns !  As  if  it  was  not  the  vitality  of  the  races  that 
would  have  the  last  word!  Or  again,  the  total  of 
Germany's  effective  forces  was  put  at  twenty-five 
corps  against  our  twenty-one  corps!  Only  another 
way  of  throwing  dust  in  our  eyes.  Who  suspected 
that  on  the  two  banks  of  the  Rhine  there  were  fifty 
or  sixty  corps,  already  complete  with  their  full  com- 
plement, ready  to  be  set  in  motion  at  a  sign  and 'de- 
stined to  be  formed  into  twelve  or  fifteen  formidable 


At  the  Globe  Cafe  109 

armies.  With  them  there  was  no  waste  of  material; 
each  individual  had  his  own  appointed  place,  the 
technicians  in  the  factories;  the  smallest  details  were 
foreseen  and  provided  for,  the  most  recent  discoveries 
in  every  sphere,  exploited.  The  troops  were  young 
and  sound,  and  their  discipline  was  marvellous. 
Each  soldier  had  his  map  and  compass.  Their  uni- 
form was  far  and  away  the  least  noticeable.  Their 
equipment  was  faultless.  Their  heavy  artillery  uni- 
que (it  would  be  our  most  unpleasant  surprise!). 
They  had  adopted  quite  new  principles  for  use  in 
aerial  warfare.  .  .  .  What  more  was  there?  The 
best-regulated  commissariat,  propaganda  among  the 
neutrals,  accomplices  among  their  adversaries .... 
And  then  the  spy  system.  Ah,  yes!  the  spy  system! 

"Oh,  magnificent!"  muttered  Guillaumin. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  As  they  wanted  war,  it  was 
only  right  that  they  should  be  as  well  prepared  for  it 
as  possible.  One  can't  help  admiring  them  for  that!" 

Guillaumin,  still  unconvinced,  sneered: 

"Oh,  charming!  There's  nothing  to  be  done  then! 
And  to-morrow  a  German  Europe!" 

Fortin  having  made  a  movement  as  if  to  say,  "Why 
not?"  a  certain  member  of  us  protested  all  the  same: 
"  Oh  no !  Anything  but  that.  We  would  fight  for  it ! 
The  triumph  of  brute  force.  Government  by  the 
sword  (all  the  old  catch  words),  we  couldn't  stand 
that.  .  .  .  Laraque  declared  that  when  we  were 
beaten  he  should  go  to  live  in  America.  Ladmiraut 
asserted  pedantically  that  all  attempts  at  universal 
sway  were  foredoomed  to  failure.  Napoleon  was  an 
example  of  it ! 

Fortin  retorted: 

"We  exaggerate  when  we  talk  of  tyranny.    .    .    . 


no  Ordeal  by  Fire 

There  would  be  a  certain  amount  of  rearranging  to 
be  got  through.  What  these  people  want,  is .  .  .  .  " 

"To  pick  our  pockets,"  cried  Guillaumin. 

"Yes,  to  pick  our  pockets,  and  also.  ..." 

Fortin  let  himself  be  carried  away.  Was  it  paradox 
or  conviction? 

"Would  you  like  to  know  what  they  want?  Well, 
simply  the  reign  of  reason,  of  their  reason.  To  their 
physical  need  for  conquest  is  added  this  intellectual 
need.  I  think  that  in  the  case  of  a  crushing  victory 
they  would  not  be  exacting,  that  they  would  content 
themselves  with  re-organising  and  ordering  the  world 
to  their  ideas.  The  triumph  of  'Ktdtur,'  yes! 
Without  doubt  they  would  allow  as  many  individual 
liberties  and  indeed  local  constitutions,  as  possible,  to 
subsist.  Their  charter  of  empire  is  so  convenient! 
The  United  States  of  Europe.  That  is  their  avowed 
dream,  often  expressed  by  the  Kaiser.  Peace,  yes, 
but  under  the  aegis  of  the  Hohenzollern,  chosen  of 
God!  An  imposing  task  to  which  they  bring  the 
fervour  of  apostles,  which  to-morrow,  on  the  battle-field 
will  become  the  fanaticism  of  martyrs.  The  horror 
of  this  contest  does  not  dismay  them,  they  consider  it 
unavoidable.  There  are  two  obstacles  in  their  path; 
France  in  their  eyes  grown  old  and  debased;  Russia 
that  huge  inorganic  body,  still  in  a  state  of  barbarism. 
Their  idea  was  to  humiliate  both  nations,  with  the 
object  of  raising  them  up  again  later  on  while  imbuing 
them  with  the  moral  and  intellectual  virtues  on  which 
the  Teuton  prides  himself.  England  impedes  them 
equally.  This  conflict  too  was  fated.  They  despise 
the  English  because  they  consider  them  too  exclusively 
concerned  with  their  well-being,  with  their  comfort; 
too  material,  shopkeepers,  in  fact !  They  themselves 


At  the  Globe  Cafe  in 

pose  as  idealists  and  philosophers,  but  heirs  to  the 
spiritualistic  traditions,  and  regardful  of  the  property, 
of  the  integri " 

"What  about  the  violation  of  Belgium ! "  Guillaumin 
interrupted. 

"Oh,  that!  That  does'nt  count:  Das  ist  Krieg! 
It's  only  outside  the  state  of  war  that  they  flatter 
themselves  that  they're  good,  just,  sentimental,  and 
gentle.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  their  ambition, 
in  the  main,  is  generous;  to  put  an  end  to  the  inferior 
period  of  improvisation  and  disorder,  and  to  instigate 
the  reign  of  perfect  equilibrium — of  happiness,  that 
is! — among  men. " 

He  paused : 

"And  bear  in  mind  that  it  must  be  admitted  that  no 
race  has  ever  had  a  better  chance  of  success  than  they 
have  at  this  moment!" 

Yes,  Fortin  showed  us  this  prodigious  result  as 
being  remote  and  still  hidden  behind  the  veil  of  the 
future,  but  within  reach — all  Germany  was  aware  of 
it! — of  the  present  generation  or  at  all  events  of  the 
next.  German  Europe?  But,  except  for  the  three 
powers  in  question,  who  were  to  be  overcome  by  force, 
was  it  not  that  already? 

He  showed  up,  in  a  crude  light,  the  important  under- 
ground activities  of  the  exchequer  and  the  cabinet; 
quite  another  side  of  the  question.  Italy,  our  famous 
Latin  sister,  peremptorily  wrested  from  the  sphere  of 
French  influence.  Austria!  With  what  supreme  skill 
the  rival  of  yesterday  had  been  converted  into  the 
intimate  ally  of  to-day.  Turkey:  simply  a  German 
colony,  who,  on  the  day  prescribed,  would  hurl  all  her 
weight  into  the  balance.  The  Scandinavian  countries, 
Spain,  Switzerland,  Holland, — all  pronounced  German- 


H2  Ordeal  by  Fire 

ophils.  It  was  a  real  miracle  that  Belgium  should 
have  barred  their  way!  The  Church  instinctively 
approving  two  traditional  Empires,  full  of  spite  and 
distrust  for  a  republic.  And  then  the  Balkans! 
Nothing  but  sad  surprises  could  be  awaited,  from 
Roumania,  whose  king,  Carol,  had  bound  himself  by 
treaty  to  the  fortunes  of  the  Central  Powers;  from 
Bulgaria,  whose  just  grievances  were  being  exploited 
by  the  enemy;  from  Greece  who  was  retained  in  this 
orbit  by  her  king,  the  Kaiser's  brother-in-law!  A 
fine  piece  of  work  by  the  Wilhelmstrasse!  Fortin 
exhibited  the  play  of  this  far-sighted  and  prudent 
diplomacy,  which  had  been  weaving  its  web  for  so 
long,  and  peopling  the  European  thrones  with  German 
princes  and  queens  for  the  last  fifty  years. 

There  was  no  gainsaying  it.  This  fellow,  Fortin, 
was  deucedly  interesting !  We  were  all  listening,  down 
to  the  most  rowdy  group,  who  had  little  by  little 
stopped  talking  and  come  up.  There  were  but  few 
protestations  now.  Foreheads,  furrowed  by  wrinkles, 
were  unconsciously  bowed  in  assent. 

But  there  was  a  sudden  climax.  A  dry  voice  made 
itself  heard  behind  us.  We  turned  round.  A  lieuten- 
ant was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  room. 

"Your  name!     I  want  the  speaker's  name!" 

We  were  all  stupefied.     Fortin  got  up. 

"And  'stand  at  attention'  first  of  all." 

The  other  explained  the  position.     He  was  pale. 

"Your  company ? " 

"The  seventeenth." 

"You're  a  despicable  worm!  You  dare  to  speak 
in  such  a  way!  You,  a  French  non-commissioned 
officer!  What  would  a  German  say  or  do?  Get  back 
to  your  quarters  at  once.  You'll  hear  from  me  later." 


At  the  Globe  Cafe  113 

The  officer's  voice  was  trembling.  Fortin  did  not 
reply.  Liberty  was  dead!  He  took  down  his  belt 
which  was  hanging  on  a  hook,  shook  the  few  hands 
held  out  to  him,  then  saluted  and  left  the  room. 

What  a  douche !  A  dismayed  silence  reigned  for  a 
few  minutes.  At  last  we  left  the  place,  but  even  out- 
side we  hardly  spoke. 

"Lieutenant  Coudray,  wasn't  it?" 

"There's  no  knowing  where  this  may  end.    .    .    .  " 

"Court-martial!" 

Ladmiraut  unburdened  himself. 

"Just  what  I  said;  Fortin  exaggerates." 

"Exactly!" 

Everyone  agreed  that  it  was  bound  to  happen. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  our  voices  were  lowered.  Did 
we  mistrust  each  other?  Really,  the  unexpected 
appearance  of  this  officer!  .  .  .  Someone  must  have 
gone  to  warn  him.  .  .  .  These  were  nice  times, 
certainly ! 

We  separated,  and  Guillaumin  took  me  home  as 
usual. 

"  I  don't  wish  him  any  ill, "  he  said,  "but  you  must 
confess  that  he  was  asking  for  it!" 

"Who?    Fortin?". 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  look  here !  He  said  enough  to  make  one  jump 
through  the  ceiling.  No,  but  can  you  see  the  Bosches 
calmly  laying  hands  on  Champagne  and  Flanders ! " 

I  was  still  suffering  from  the  effects  of  the  irritation 
and  humiliation  aroused  in  me  by  the  intervention 
of  the  Lieutenant.  I  could  hear  his  cutting  voice. 
Some  rotter  or  other!  But  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done,  but  to  bow  before  his  superior  rank. 

8 


ii4  Ordeal  by  Fire 

It  must  be  added  that  I  had  come  under  the  de- 
pressing influence ....  What  a  hit  it  was  at  my 
illusions,  at  our  groundless  self-confidence!  To  go 
and  get  killed  for  a  cause  we  knew  was  already  lost. 
Oh,  it  really  was  the  limit ! 

A  cold  rage  filled  me.  I  vented  it  on  poor  Guillau- 
min  to  begin  with.  He  was  on  the  point  of  returning 
to  the  subject  of  his  Champagne  and  his  Flanders. 
.  .  .  One  would  have  thought  they  belonged  to  him 
and  that  someone  wanted  to  pick  his  pocket  of  them ! 

None  of  that !  I  shut  him  up,  and  told  him  what  an 
ass  I  thought  him.  The  dull  resentment  which  had 
been  heaped  up  in  me  by  these  first  days  of  subjection, 
rose  up  from  the  depths  of  my  being.  And  I  did  not 
stop  at  that;  my  egoism  and  the  anarchism  of  my 
bad  days  rebelled. 

I  suddenly  announced  that  I  hoped  the  socialistic 
agitations  would  come  to  something. 

"What  agitations?"     Guillaumin  asked. 

"Oh!"  I  said.  "They  were  keeping  quiet  on  the 
subject,  by  order!  but  they  existed,  could  not  help 
existing  in  spite  of  certain  recantations.  Would  they 
smother  the  peoples'  poignant  cry  for  peace  at  any 
price,  much  longer?  War  on  the  War!  Following 
up  the  bold  refrain,  I  asserted  that  I  should  like  to 
see  the  workmen  who  had  been  called  up,  fire  their 
first  shots  at  the  instigators  of  the  catastrophe,  all 
these  statesmen,  generals,  and  financiers  of  both 
countries,  who  were  driving  two  peaceful  nations  to 
the  slaughter!  As  if  all  the  political  and  economic 
interests  in  the  world  were  worth  this  massacre  of 
innocents! 

I  went  further — or  lower.  I  blush  when  I  remem- 
ber to  what  degrading  lengths  I  allowed  myself  to  go. 


At  the  Globe  Cafe  115 

If  our  neighbours  were  really  so  passionately  anxious 
for  the  expansion  of  their  "  Kultur"  as  Fortin  had  said 
they  were,  did  he,  Guillaumin,  know  what  remained  to 
be  done.  Simply  fold  our  arms  and  wait  for  them. 
They  would  not  devour  us,  or  at  least  not  all  of 
us!  We  should  be  invaded?  And  then?  Annexed? 
What  a  misfortune  that  would  be  to  be  sure!  There 
would  be  no  more  France?  Well,  if  she  had  to  dis- 
appear, why  not  to-morrow,  just  as  well  as  in  a  hundred 
years !  .  .  .  .  All  these  tales  of  separate  races,  and 
of  native  lands  were  simply  the  patter  of  disastrous 
phrase-makers.  .  .  .  Let  all  those  who  believed 
them  go  and  get  killed  for  them.  There  could  be 
nothing  more  just !  To  the  frontier  with  the  enthu- 
siasts, the  convinced — the  imbeciles — who  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  changing  their  names.  But  as  for  us, 
for  me,  who  did  not  care  a  blow  about  it  all .  .  .  ! 

"Talk  away!"  said  Guillaumin. 

"What?" 

"You  won't  take  me  in!" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"You  want  to  get  a  rise  out  of  me!" 

"I?" 

"You'll  fight  as  well  as  the  best  of  them!" 

"Well,  what  will  that  prove?" 

He  did  not  answer  me.  There  was  no  need.  I  was 
at  a  loss  for  words.  I  was  pinked. 

Recall  to  reality.  The  time  was  past  for  weighing 
the  reasons  for  and  against.  The  philosophic  juggling. 
The  superior  sphere  of  action,  offered  itself,  nay 
imposed  itself  upon  us.  ...  Fortin,  Guillaumin, 
I  myself;  we  were  all  in  uniform,  we  were  going  to 
fight.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  only  one  thing  to  be 
done,  to  strain  our  muscles  and  our  soul,  to  stake 


n6  Ordeal  by  Fire 

our  fate  on  hope  and  on  faith  in  our  cause.  What 
folly  to  be  both  judge  and  suitor.  What  grandeur 
in  belief,  even  when  absurd ! 

If  only  I  had  been  sure  that  I  should  fight  as  well 
as  he  said  I  should ! 


CHAPTER  XVI 
CAVILLINGS 

As  it  was  my  day  on  duty  it  fell  to  me  to  march  the 
men  who  had  reported  sick  to  the  M.  0.  that  morning. 

I  should  have  liked  to  have  time  to  cast  an  eye 
over  my  men's  equipment  before  the  captain  came  to 
take  kit  inspection.  My  mind  was  not  entirely  at 
ease  on  the  subject,  when,  in  passing,  I  had  asked 
Corporal  Bouguet  if  he  thought  it  would  go  all  right, 
he  had  curtly  replied  that  he  couldn't  see  everything, 
he  hadn't  got  eyes  all  over  his  head. 

Sick  parade  naturally  promised  to  take  longer  than 
usual.  Captain  Ribet  had  made  searching  enquiries 
the  day  before  and  consulted  the  sick  lists.  He  had 
told  of  about  twenty  weaklings  to  report  themselves 
to  the  chief  Medical  Officer.  I  had  not  been  surprised 
to  catch  sight  of  De  Valpic's  name  on  the  list  which 
I  had  been  told  to  hand  over. 

Surgeon-major  Bouchut,  a  stout,  apoplectic-looking 
man,  arrived  in  a  state  of  perspiration,  and  swearing 
hard  began  to  sound  the  men's  hearts  and  lungs.  He 
was  not  very  ferocious  to-day.  He  must  have  had 
instructions  to  strike  out  the  good-for-nothings. 
Whenever  it  was  a  case  of  enteritis,  rheumatism,  or 
bronchitis  he  jerked  out  at  me : 


n8  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Oh,  he'd  better  stay  at  the  depot!" 

Then,  turning  to  the  man,  he  would  growl: 

"You'll  have  to  stay  behind  my  lad!" 

A  well-set-up  fellow  out  of  my  section  came  and 
announced : 

"I'm  an  old  trooper,  I  am!" 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

"And  so  I  shan't  march." 

"Oh,  you  think  so,  do  you?" 

"I  never  have  marched." 

"A  good  opportunity  to  learn!" 

"It's  on  account  of  a  slight  rupture.    ..." 

4 'Let's  have  a  look!" 

"Bouchut  felt  his  groin." 

"You  wear  a  truss,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  sir-r!" 

"In  that  case  you  can  walk  round  the  world!" 

"But  .    .    .    ." 

"Off  with  you!    Brr!     Next  man  now!" 

The  next  one  on  the  list  was  De  Valpic.  I  considered 
his  thin  body  with  all  the  ribs  showing. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  Bouchut  asked. 

"Nothing  much,  sir,  but  the  captain  told  me 
to.  ..." 

Bouchut  bent  down  over  him : 

"Take  a  deep  breath.    .    .    ." 

Just  then  a  hubbub  arose,  an  orderly  was  slating; 
a  man  who  had  just  upset  the  bottle  containing  the 
tincture  of  iodine. 

"  Can't  you  keep  quiet,  confound  you ! " 

But  Bouchut's  attention  was  again  distracted  by  the 
arrival  of  a  surgeon-lieutenant.  They  gossiped  for  a 
moment  and  then  returning  at  last  to  De  Valpic,  he, 
said: 


Cavillings  1 19 

"Then  you  don't  cough  at  all?" 

"Hardly  at  all,  sir." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  to  the  front? " 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"Very  well,  then.  Must  not  be  overdone,"  he 
dictated  to  me. 

The  examination  came  to  an  end.  When  I  went 
out  I  came  across  the  man  with  the  rupture  again. 
He  was  cursing  and  swearing!  "Well,  if  that  wasn't 
a  shame!  To  make  an  old  dragoon,  with  an  illness 
like  that,  walk!  They  were  a  set  of  bullies,  that's 
what  they  were !  .  .  .  "  But  he'd  be  even  with  them 
yet!  He  knew  a  thing  or  two.  The  first  time  they 
were  under  fire,  he  would  stagger,  and  let  himself  fall. 
But  first,  he  was  going  to  write  to  Sembat,  who  was  a 
pal  of  his. 

"Switch  off  Loriot!"  somebody  warned  him. 
"Here  come  the  N.  C.  O.'s!" 

I  wondered  whether  I  should  pack  him  off  to  the 
defaulters'  room.  ...  Perhaps  it  would  raise  my 
prestige,  but  I  let  the  opportunity  slip  by,  and  finally 
decided  to  have  heard  nothing. 

Guillaumin  came  up  to  me.  He  was  bringing  the 
letters  from  the  barracks  and  good-naturedly  drew  my 
attention  to  the  fact  that  I  was  the  one  who  ought  to 
have  gone  to  fetch  them.  He  agreed  in  addition 
to  be  responsible  for  their  distribution.  He  was 
rummaging  in  his  pockets. 

"There's  a  post  card  for  you. " 

A  post  card  really !  I  was  not  expecting  anything. 
A  few  lines  from  my  father  and  a  note  from  Laquarrie're, 
in  answer  to  one  I  had  written  him,  was  all  I  had 
received  since  the  beginning. 

I  looked  at  the  post  mark;  illegible.     I  did  not 


120  Ordeal  by  Fire 

recognise  the  handwriting,  it  was  feminine.  I  turned 
to  the  signature:  "  Jeannine.!" 

The  little  Landry  girl! 

What  does  she  think  of  it  all  ?  I  wondered,  amused. 
She,  who  would  not  hear  of  war!  I  remembered  our 
trifling  on  that  railway  platform.  .  .  .  What  a 
short  time  ago  it  was  .  .  .  and  yet  it  seemed  so  long. 
She  had  written  very  closely.  I  noted  her  graceful 
attempt  to  write  me  something  beyond  the  usual 
commonplace  remarks.  She  gave  a  short  description 
of  their  railway  journey.  On  hearing  the  great  news, 
they  had  gone  to  Geneva  (a  reassuring  atmosphere), 
and  on  to  Paris  the  day  after.  Since  then  they  had 
settled  down  again  as  well  as  might  be,  and  without  a 
maid,  at  St.  Mande".  But  what  about  me?  I  was 
far  more  interesting!  In  barracks,  no  doubt?  Or 
perhaps  already  on  my  way  to  the  front  ?  They  were 
counting  on  my  being  able  to  let  ...  friends, 
know  how  I  was  getting  on.  The  card  ended  with 
these  words,  "We  think  of  you  a  great  deal. " 

I  re-read  it;  I  was  touched.  I  would  certainly 
answer  this  delightful  girl  very  soon!  I  should  have 
liked  to  do  so  at  once;  but  a  stupid  feeling  of  bashful- 
ness  forbade  my  seeming  in  too  much  of  a  hurry. 

We  assembled  for  the  inspection.  The  men  came 
on  to  parade,  one  by  one,  staggering  under  their  packs, 
which  were  continually  slipping  and  having  to  be 
hoisted  up  again,  with  a  jerk  of  their  shoulders.  All 
at  once  they  realised  that  the  inspection  was  not  a 
mere  matter  of  form.  Beginning  with  the  first  platoon 
the  captain  stopped  in  front  of  each  man. 

Guillaumin  whispered  to  me: 

"His  eyes  are  skinned  right  enough." 


Cavillings  121 

Corporal  Bouguet  continued  to  look  at  me  sourly. 
Donnadieu,  sandy-haired  and  stolid,  when  I  ques- 
tioned him,  shook  his  head,  and  did  not  seem  to  want 
to  be  answerable  for  anything  either. 

We  had  half-an-hour's  wait,  which  was  distinctly 
unnerving.  Our  turn  came  at  last. 

Bouguet  was  examined  first  and  passed  as  impec- 
cable. Thank  Heaven!  And  his  neighbour,  Simeon, 
too.  I  was  beginning  to  breathe  more  freely.  The 
captain  escorted  by  the  company  quartermaster-ser- 
geant stopped  in  front  of  Paquette,  a  villager  with  a 
blank  expression. 

' '  Take  off  your  valise.  That's  right !  Now  open  it. 
Let's  see  your  housewife  .  .  .  and  the  inside .  .  .  ." 

The  man  cautiously  emptied  the  contents,  consist- 
ing of  three  old  buttons  and  some  rusty  pins,  into  his 
hand. 

"No  needles?    Or  thread?" 

"We  haven't  been  given  any,  sir." 

"What's  this?  They  were  given  out  yesterday. 
What's  the  meaning  of  this,  sergeant?" 

"That's  right,  sir!"  I  said. 

The  captain  raised  his  voice. 

"Hands  up !  in  the  nth  and  I2th  those  who've  got 
no  needles  or  thread." 

Three  or  four  arms,  then  seven,  eight,  ten,  were 
raised. 

"Extremely  important!  Tears  are  not  rare  occur- 
rences in  the  field,  nor  are  burst  buttons.  And  if 
you've  nothing  to  mend  them  with !  A  pair  of  trousers 
which  won't  keep  up,  means  a  man  out  of  action!" 

He  went  on  to  the  next  man,  Judsi ! 

"Got  your  body  belt?" 

Judsi  shook  his  head  grotesquely. 


122  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Don't  wear  one,  sir!" 

"Did  you  draw  one?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"What's  become  of  it?" 

Judsi  made  a  movement  expressive  of  ignorance. 

"Someone  probably  nabbed  it,  sir!  Seein'  as  I 
don't  wear  one. " 

The  captain  turned  to  me. 

"So,  you  don't  see  to  all  this?" 

I  protested  that  I  had  told  him.    .    .    . 

"Told  him!  Told  him!  .  .  .  You  see  the  result ! 
When  you  have  ten  or  fifteen  men  down  with 
dysentery.  .  .  .!" 

He  went  on  to  the  next.  It  was  done  on  purpose. 
Here,  a  shoulder  strap  had  come  unsewn,  there  one  or 
two  buttons  missing,  this  ke*pi  had  no  chin-strap, 
that  bayonet  was  rusty,  a  certain  rifle  was  not  properly 
cleaned.  Where  was  the  lantern  belonging  to  No.  1 1 
half-section  ?  And  the  camp  gear !  It  was  quite  clear 
that  it  had  been  badly  distributed.  The  captain 
dropped  straight  on  to  the  weak  spot  and  emphasised 
it  coldly. 

When  the  non-commissioned  officers  were  collected 
afterwards,  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings. 

" It's  lucky  we're  not  going  off  this  evening!  That 
would  be  a  nice  state  of  affairs!  No.  3  platoon  is  a 
positive  disgrace!  I  am  speaking  of  section  No.  2! 
Sergeant  Dreher,  at  one  o'clock  I  shall  inspect  your 
half-sections  and  I  can  assure  you  that  if  anything 
goes  wrong  this  time!"  He  twirled  his  long  mous- 
tache. I  was  frightfully  annoyed.  What  irritated 
me  above  everything  was  the  ironical  satisfaction 
shown  by  several  of  my  fellow  N.  C.  O.'s;  I  tried  to 
excuse  myself. 


Cavillings  123 

"It  was  my  day  on  duty,  sir!" 
But  Ravelli  interrupted: 

"Oh,  it  was  you,  was  it?  I  wondered  who  it  could 
be.  ...  You  never  turned  up." 

I  was  filled  with  a  wild  desire  to  fall  upon  my  cor- 
porals, but  Bouguet  was  waiting  for  me,  bristling  with 
rage.  Ready  to  bite  his  head  off  I  turned  upon  Don- 
nadieu,  who  put  on  a  vexed,  sheepish  expression. 

I  swore  at  the  men  roundly;  in  the  approved  N.C.O. 
style.  Did  they  think  they  could  snap  their  fingers 
at  me  ?  Getting  me  cursed  like  that !  So  they  weren't 
even  capable  of  appearing  in  service  marching  order? 
So  jolly  difficult,  wasn't  it? 

"Such  humbug  from  a  blooming  plug!"  Judsi 
muttered. 

I  told  them  about  the  supplementary  inspection, 
and  moderated  my  tone  in  view  of  their  obvious  bad 
temper. 

"Come  along,  let's  look  alive.  Everyone  must  do 
his  bit!" 

Cook-house  door  had  gone.     Lamalou  exclaimed: 

"  Arf  a  mo'.     Carn't  work  on  an  empty  belly. " 

A  long  hour  elapsed  before  any  one  deigned  to  start 
work  again  and  even  then  they  did  not  put  their  backs 
into  it.  I  was  horrified  at  the  number  of  dirty 
mess-tins  and  water-bottles,  of  uncleaned  boots,  and 
above  all,  of  the  fittings  missing ;  sets  of ' '  pull  throughs  " 
had  to  be  complete  in  groups  of  four!  Stores  orders 
must  be  got  and  signed  by  the  company  sergeant- 
major,  and  the  things  drawn  .  .  .  and  the  time  was 
being  frittered  away  in  dawdling  and  gossiping.  I 
think  the  knaves  did  it  on  purpose.  My  remarks  all 
fell  on  deaf  ears,  whatever  tone  I  adopted — I  tried 


124  Ordeal  by  Fire 

them  all  I  I  felt  a  sort  of  jeering  hostility  rising  against 
me  which  infuriated  me,  though  I  did  not  let  them  see 
it. 

Bouillon  luckily  lent  a  hand.  Having  once  had  the 
rank  of  corporal,  he  still  retained  a  certain  hold  over 
his  comrades. 

He  laid  himself  out  and  was  here,  there,  and  every- 
where, lavishing  rebukes  and  fisticuffs. 

When  Captain  Ribet  reappeared  at  the  time  ar- 
ranged everything  went  well.  The  inspection  was 
even  more  minute  than  it  had  been  in  the  morning, 
but  this  time  he  found  only  a  few  infinitesimal  details 
to  criticise. 

When  he  left  he  said  to  me: 

"Aren't  you  more  satisfied?" 

I  did  not  answer,  but  met  his  remark  with  the 
regulation  coldness. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SUSPICIONS  OF   EMOTION 

THE  presentation  of  the  Colours  was  announced 
for  three  o'clock.  We  would  willingly  have  dispensed 
with  climbing  up  to  the  parade-ground!  Goodness 
knows  I  was  not  looking  forward  to  the  ceremony. 

Our  company  was  the  last  to  arrive.  A  major 
wearing  an  eye-glass,  urged  his  horse  past  us.  He  was 
an  insolent,  bloated-looking  creature,  with  a  sallow 
complexion,  and  greeted  our  company  officer  with  a 
bitter-sweet  remark  which  the  latter,  to  my  delight, 
acknowledged  in  the  same  tone. 

The  colonel  appeared.  He  was  quite  white,  al- 
though still  young,  a  cavalier  of  imperious  bearing. 
With  his  manly  face  and  his  moustache  he  reminded 
one  strongly  of  "Dume'ny"  in  La  Flambee. 

He  rode  slowly  up  and  down  among  our  ranks. 
Chests  were  thrown  out  at  his  approach.  He  made 
a  few  remarks  in  a  firm  but  kindly  tone.  Then  the 
order  was  given  to  the  two  battalions  to  close  up  into 
a  semi-circle. 

Controlling  his  mount,  the  colonel  looked  round  on 
us  proudly,  and  began  to  harangue  us. 

I  listened.  I  had  come  in  a  sarcastic  frame  of  mind. 
What  could  he  say  that  would  not  be  stale  or  com- 
monplace? 


126  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Indeed  I  had  foreseen  this  issue  of  ready-made 
phrases  on  the  decisive  importance  of  the  struggle 
upon  which  we  were  embarking;  it  was  a  question  of 
safeguarding  our  country  and  our  lives  against  a 
nation  which  was  becoming  a  menace  to  the  human 
race ....  But  the  inflections  of  a  manly  voice  con- 
ferred a  certain  grandeur  on  the  hackneyed  theme. 

"A  fine  actor, "  I  repeated  to  myself.  "More  and 
more  like  Dume"ny!" 

I  tried,  like  this,  to  avoid  being  carried  away,  then 
I  began  to  give  in.  I  admitted  that  a  certain  beauty 
resulted  from  the  perfect  harmony  between  his  words 
and  their  object.  I  read  in  the  men's  face  the  revela- 
tion of  a  virtue,  until  now  unknown  even  to  them.  For 
the  first  time  I  had  the  intuition  that  these  peasants 
and  working-men  and  bourgeois,  for  the  most  part 
doltish,  narrow-minded  beings,  would,  if  certain  chords 
in  them  were  touched,  be  capable  of  great  things.  .  .  . 

And  what  about  me  ?  Oh !  I  should  be  an  on-looker 
as  usual !  That  would  be  quite  enough  for  me. 

The  colonel  concluded: 

"Now,  my  friends,  you  are  about  to  march  past 
your  Colours.  They  are  new,  they  have  not  been 
under  fire,  they  do  not  bear  the  names  of  glorious 
victories  in  their  folds  like  their  seniors  of  the  1st .  .  .  . 
Well,  it  is  for  us  to  dower  them. " 

A  thrill  ran  through  the  ranks,  then  the  whole  mass 
stood  like  stone.  The  bugles  sounded  the  vehement, 
tragic  call  which  always  shakes  me  physically. 

We  marched  rapidly  in  column  of  fours  up  towards 
the  bugles  which  called  and  guided  us  with  their  heroic 
flourish.  I  suddenly  wished  I  could  shed  my  egoism 
and  vibrate  in  unison  with  the  two  thousand  men,  who, 
in  this  hour,  were  being  consecrated  my  brothers  in 


Suspicions  of  Emotion  127 

arms.  I  flogged  my  imagination.  The  Colours.  The 
word  echoed  within  me,  awakening  a  procession  of 
sacred  memories  and  emotions.  I  could  see  myself 
as  a  child  at  the  window  with  my  mother  leaning  over 
me,  clapping  my  hands  to  salute  the  standard  of  the 
"8th  Cuirassiers"  in  front  of  which  rode  my  father, 
very  upright  on  his  big  black  horse.  At  that  time  I 
used  to  revel  in  the  many  tales  of  heroes  who  let 
themselves  be  killed  rather  than  abandon  the  staff, 
or  expended  a  prodigious  amount  of  cunning  in  order 
to  save  the  remnants  of  it. 

Were  not  these  Colours  the  emblem  of  the  country 
we  had  risen  to  defend,  the  symbol  of  everything  that 
could  raise  our  soldiers'  hearts?  My  bosom  swelled 
at  these  thoughts.  We  were  drawing  nearer  to  it;  I 
fixed  ardent  eyes  on  it.  .  .  . 

It  was  certainly  beautiful,  half  unfurled  in  the 
breeze,  with  its  rich  fresh  tints  and  fringe  of  gold. 
A  sub-lieutenant,  looking  very  pale  and  proud,  was 
holding  it  firmly  against  his  hip. 

The  din  of  the  bugles  increased,  filling  our  hearts. 
.  .  .  We  passed  by .... 

And  yet  no !  No !  My  .  .  .  irreverence  rebelled. 
To  become  excited  over  this  tinsel,  these  few  yards 
of  painted  stuff!  Had  I  hoped  for  this  thing?  I 
had  not  yet  got  so  far ! 

Our  last  evening — strict  confinement  to  barracks. 

I  had  retired  to  my  hay-loft.  I  leant  my  elbows  on 
the  window-sill  overlooking  the  garden. 

I  was  surprised  to  hear  the  murmur  of  voices  below 
me.  I  leant  out  and  saw  a  couple  there. 

When  I  recognised  little  Frdmont  and  his  wife, 
sitting  side  by  side  on  a  stone  bench,  my  first  feeling 


128  Ordeal  by  Fire 

was  one  of  vague  impatience.  The  separation  of  hus- 
band and  wife !  A  touching  subject  for  the  pen ! 

How  had  they  managed  to  slip  in  there?  A  chance 
word  which  reached  my  ears  explained  it.  The  princi- 
pal's wife  had  had  pity  on  them  and  had  given  them 
the  key.  The  little  wife  had  contrived  that;  she  had 
not  been  able  to  bear  the  idea  of  being  deprived  of  her 
Marcel  on  the  last  evening. 

I  considered  her  sardonically.  "Let's  have  a  look 
at  this  woman  in  love!" 

I  have  already  said  what  my  opinion  of  her  was. 
I  never  thought  I  should  change  it.  This  evening, 
however,  though  her  features  were  already  merging 
with  the  growing  twilight,  it  seemed  to  me  that  her 
face  shone  with  a  rarer  radiance.  Was  it  her  love 
that  transfigured  this  child  ? 

She  had  taken  off  her  hat  and  was  leaning  her 
brown  head  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  while  he  held 
her  close,  his  arm  round  her  waist.  Their  foreheads 
and  eyes  and  lips  caressed  each  other.  They  were 
talking  below  their  breath.  No  other  sound  but  the 
rustle  of  the  wind  disturbed  the  deep  silence. 

I  was  indiscreet  enough  to  play  the  eavesdropper. 

She  was  the  one  who  spoke  the  most,  in  little,  plain- 
tive, tender  phrases,  like  the  twittering  of  birds.  I 
could  only  follow  the  general  trend  of  her  remarks,  but 
it  was  enough  for  me  to  see  that  she  was  not  bemoan- 
ing herself  lest  she  should  rob  him  of  his  courage. 
She  only  dwelt  in  retrospect  on  the  happy  weeks 
they  had  spent  together.  Many  injunctions  followed. 
They  would  be  sure  to  write  to  each  other  every  day, 
and  think  of  each  other  all  the  while. 

I  found  it  easier  to  catch  his  grave,  reassuring  re- 
plies. The  tone  of  his  voice  baffled  me.  Here  was 


Suspicions  of  Emotion  129 

Fremont,  the  retiring  little  man,  with  shy  manners, 
who  liked  to  keep  in  the  background  and  always  asked 
advice,  appearing  in  the  role  of  comforter!  His 
protecting  fondness  enfolded  his  beloved. 

I  continued  to  lean  out  above  them,  my  elbows 
on  the  stone  window-sill,  my  hands  joined.  My 
malevolence  gradually  subsided. 

That  this  was  merely  the  repetition  of  a  scene  which 
had  been  enacted  all  through  the  ages,  no  longer 
seemed  to  me  a  sufficient  reason  to  smile  at  it.  On 
tne  contrary,  I  was  stirred  by  the  thought  of  the 
eternal  chain  of  loves  and  partings. 

Night  had  fallen.  The  trees  in  the  orchard  seemed 
so  many  phantoms.  Not  a  light  to  be  seen.  Some 
birds  flew  silently  across  the  night  air.  I  could  hardly 
distinguish  the  two  lovers  now,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
that  their  lips  had  sought  and  found  each  other. 
There  was  silence  for  a  short  space.  Then  a  sentence 
was  breathed  softly.  A  voice  trembled  into  tears. 
I  gathered  from  certain  allusions  that  she  was  afraid, 
though  she  did  not  say  so,  that  he  might  never  see 
their  little  child. 

Sitting  there  motionless,  I  dedicated  my  pitying 
sympathy  to  them  and  thought  how  few  men  there 
were  among  all  the  thousands  I  had  seen  marching 
past  this  afternoon,  who  were  not  leaving  some  woman 
at  home,  wife  or  lover,  and  some  child  of  their  flesh. 
.  .  .  Poor  souls !  How  terrible  their  grief  must  be ! 
I  ought  to  have  congratulated  myself  on  the  fact  that 
I  was  leaving  nothing  behind  me.  Why  did  I  now 
so  poignantly  regret  my  solitude ;  did  I  envy  the  fare- 
wells uttered  amid  tears  and  the  sealing  of  vows? 

There  was  a  noise  behind  me:  Guillaumin.  I  left 
the  window,  an  instinctive  delicacy  of  feeling  pre- 


130  Ordeal  by  Fire 

vented  me  from  drawing  his  attention  to  the  presence 
of  the  couple  in  the  garden. 

We  went  down  into  the  yard  again.  My  companion 
was  in  tremendous  form.  He  held  forth  on  a  hundred 
and  one  subjects,  and  I  agreed  with  him  absent- 
mindedly.  My  thoughts  were  wandering  capriciously. 
I  thought  of  my  brother  Victor  for  whose  safe  return 
someone  was  praying.  ...  A  strange  insistent 
idea  kept  recurring  to  my  mind,  of  writing  to  the  girl 
who  had  thought  of  me  yesterday. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    RETURN  OF  EGOISM 

THE  last  distribution  of  stores  had  just  taken  place 
— biscuits,  haversack  rations,  and  iron  rations.  Car- 
tridges too,  fifteen  packets  a  head;  a  pretty  tough 
load,  in  addition  to  everything  else.  A  lot  of  men 
were  grousing  about  where  they  should  put  them. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  there  was  some  surplus. 
The  company  commander  who  was  passing  said: 

"You're  not  going  to  leave  those  behind,  mind!" 

I  took  two  extra  packets,  and  Guillaumin  four.  He 
remarked : 

"This  is  the  most  necessary  part  of  your  equipment, 
you  chaps,  don't  you  make  any  mistake  about  that!" 

He  had  few  imitators.  Playoust,  who  was  prowling 
round,  jeered. 

"For  the  Bosches?  But  my  dear  fellow  you  won't 
see  any  for  six  weeks!" 

It  was  not  at  all  encouraging.  Lamalou  happened 
to  turn  up,  and  as  an  old  stager,  at  once  exclaimed: 

"Shove  one  along,  and  let's  'ave  a  look!" 

He  had  formerly  been  in  one  of  the  flying  columns  in 
Morocco  where  the  replenishment  of  ammunition  was 
a  difficulty.  Guillaumin  threw  him  a  packet. 

"Catch!" 

The  other  caught  it  in  mid  air,  then  another,  and 


132  Ordeal  by  Fire 

another,  five,  ten,  fifteen.  That  doubled  his  load  and 
he  went  on  shouting. 

"Another!  And  another!  Just  to  make  'em 
dance!" 

His  example  was  decisive.  Five  minutes  later  there 
was  nothing  left  of  the  heap. 

"The  creature  knows  how  to  make  himself  useful!" 
I  thought.  It  was  a  pity  he  drank  so  much !  He  had 
just  got  into  new  and  serious  trouble.  A  scandal  in  a 
pub,  as  usual — the  officer  on  rounds  had  reported  him 
— he  had  been  imprisoned — and  the  company  ser- 
geant-major was  innocently  congratulating  himself 
upon  having  got  rid  of  him ! 

But  the  captain  got  him  out,  and  made  a  point  of 
having  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  him.  What  could 
he  have  threatened  him  with?  With  leaving  him  at 
the  depot  I  think.  The  other  had  to  promise  to  be 
good,  he  reappeared  triumphant. 

"A  regular  brick,  the  Captain." 

Ravelli  could  not  get  over  it. 

At  two  o'clock  I  began  to  get  ready;  we  were  to 
start  at  four.  I  was  fully  equipped ;  nothing  was  mis- 
sing. My  pockets  were  stuffed  with  the  endless  little 
necessaries  for  which  there  was  no  room  elsewhere: 
tooth-brush,  medicine-case,  string,  pocket-knife, 
lighter  electric  torch.  Bouillon  had  conscientiously 
tidied  me  up  and  cleaned  my  equipment.  In  con- 
sideration of  what  I  owed  him,  I  had  tipped  him  ten 
francs.  He  hesitated.  It  was  a  large  sum!  I  in- 
sisted upon  his  taking  it.  I  did  not  like  being  indebted 
to  people. 

I  was  alone  in  our  room.  I  had  just  slipped  my 
swollen  pack  over  my  shoulder.  My  water-bottle 


A  Return  of  Egoism  133 

was  lying  on  a  shelf  above  me.  I  reached  out  my 
hand  to  take  it.  Ugh !  it  slipped  out  of  my  hand,  and 
fell  on  to  the  tiles. 

Damn — oh,  damn.     Supposing  it  leaked! 

I  ran  to  a  tap  and  began  to  fill  it. 

Yes,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.     It  was  done  for! 

I  was  in  despair.  Nothing  worse  could  have  hap- 
pened to  me.  I  knew  the  incomparable  value  of  a 
few  drops  of  moisture  at  critical  moments.  When  you 
are  exhausted  and  choked  by  the  sun  and  the  dust, 
there  is  nothing  like  a  drop  of  water  on  a  piece  of 
sugar,  or  a  thimbleful  of  rum  to  revive  you.  And  on 
a  route  march  too  you  are  sustained  by  the  mere 
thought  that  you  are  carrying  with  you  this  source  of 
refreshment.  And  I  who  had  taken  such  care,  and 
was  so  pleased  at  having  this  clean  well-corked  water- 
bottle.  .  .  .  What  odiously  bad  luck!  My  whole 
campaign  seemed  to  me  to  be  poisoned  by  it .  .  .  . 

Bouillon  arrived  on  the  scene.  Directly  I  had  told 
him,  distractedly,  of  my  misfortune. 

"Good  heavens!"  he  said,  "that  it  should  'appen 
just  now!  It's  far  too  late  to  get  it  soldered!" 

I  sighed.     He  looked  round  the  room. 

"W'y  not  sneak  one?" 

As  I  shrugged  my  shoulders.     He  continued: 

"I'll  undertake  the  job  if  yer  like?" 

"But  how?" 

"Oh,  I'll  get  one  from  someone  or  other. " 

"You  mustn't  touch  Guillaumin's  things,  mind." 

"No,  'e's  in  the  section.    Wot  abaht  this  one?" 

"DeValpic's?"  V; 

"All  right!    Wait  a  minute!" 

"But  I  say,  he.    .    .    ?" 

I  hesitated. 


134  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"He  would  notice  it!  The  cases  are  marked, 
look.  ..." 

"Don't  you  go  an'  worry  yerself  abaht  that  now! 
You've  only  got  to  change  them!  You  go  an'  keep 
an  eye  on  the  door.  ..." 

I  went  and  watched  the  corridor.  I  was  consumed 
by  a  lively  remorse.  But  what  did  it  matter!  Each 
one  must  fend  for  himself !  He  would  have  to  get  out 
of  the  difficulty  as  best  he  could.  After  all  there  was 
nothing  more  usual  in  the  regiment  than  these  sly 
thefts.  Why,  someone  had  relieved  me  of  one  of  my 
brushes  only  the  day  before  yesterday!  I  blamed 
myself  for  my  horrible  selfishness,  but  I  had  practised 
it  for  so  long.  The  opportunity  was  too  tempting! 
Anything  rather  than  to  suffer,  hour  after  hour,  from 
thirst  or  the  fear  of  thirst!  And  did  I  not  promise 
myself — hypocrite  that  I  was — to  share  my  ration  of 
water  with  the  comrade  I  had  despoiled? 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  Bouillon  had  dexterously 
drawn  the  two  bottles  out  of  their  cloth  cases,  and 
effected  the  exchange. 

"Nobody  will  ever  be  any  the  wiser!" 

De  Valpic  came  in  soon  after  and  noticed  nothing. 

I  can  hear  the  whistle.  Quick  march!  We  shook 
ourselves.  .  .  .  That  was  a  never-to-be-forgotten 
moment. 

I  was  in  the  rear  of  the  section.  I  considered  our 
column;  expressions  and  attitudes  at  that  moment 
imprinted  themselves  on  my  memory.  Fifteen  yards 
in  front  at  the  head  of  the  section  Guillaumin  was 
marching  along  with  his  usual  swing.  I  ran  an  eye 
over  my  half-sections.  Here  were  Gaude"reaux  and 
Trichet;  there  was  Judsi,  the  buffoon,  giving  an 


A  Return  of  Egoism  135 

imitation  of  the  goose  step ;  Lamalou  with  his  ke*pi  d 
la  Knut.  Loriot,  the  man  with  the  rupture,  gloomy 
and  already  dragging  his  leg  along  affectedly;  my 
corporals,  Donnadieu,  a  little  pale,  sandy-haired 
man  gripping  the  butt  of  his  rifle  convulsively.  Bou- 
guet,  extremely  fit,  turning  round  to  see  that  all  his 
men  were  there. 

It  gave  one  the  impression  of  a  holiday  parade.  I 
have  mentioned  the  windows  decorated  with  bunting, 
the  men's  rifles  and  packs  too  were  ornamented  with 
little  flags.  And  the  flowers !  In  one  section,  Trichet, 
who  was  a  gardener  by  trade,  had  procured  great 
bundles  of  them.  They  had  been  distributed  among 
the  different  half-sections.  The  other  sergeants  had 
been  given  roses  or  dahlias  by  their  men.  I  had  been 
forgotten,  and  when  Bouillon,  who  was  annoyed  about 
it,  had  brought  me  some  geraniums  just  as  we  were 
starting,  I  refused  them  with  thanks!  Quite  un- 
necessary! I  alone  was  clear-headed.  You  would 
have  thought  that  I  alone  knew  to  what  a  sinister 
revel  we  were  hastening. 

Left!  Right!  We  were  all  marching  at  the  same 
pace,  towards  our  mysterious  destiny.  For  how 
many  of  us  had  Fate  signed  the  order  of  arrest!  I 
tried  to  pick  out  the  first  victims.  Was  it  that  block- 
head— Henry,  I  think,  they  called  him — who  would 
be  picked  up  in  a  fortnight's  time,  with  his  leg  or  head 
torn  off?  A  big  dark  fellow  was  laughing,  showing  his 
teeth  in  a  huge  guffaw.  I  mentally  put  him  down  as 
not  being  one  of  those  who  would  come  back.  This 
ghastly  game  fascinated  me. 

On  getting  to  the  main  street  we  halted  for  a  time 
and  waited  to  take  our  place  in  the  regiment.  The 
bugles  passed  by. 


136  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Sol  mi:  Sol  do! 
La  classe  s'en  va! 

Then  we  followed  the  stream. 

A  line  had  formed  three-deep  along  each  pavement. 

All  F ,  all  the  neighbouring  country  was  crowded 

there.  Our  departure  effected  the  country  even  more 
than  that  of  the  regulars.  These  men  from  twenty-five 
to  thirty  years  old  were  the  married  youth,  who  had 
taken  root  and  founded  a  family.  Drawn  up  in  the 
doorways,  or  leaning  from  the  windows,  women  and 
children,  with  all  their  heart,  were  shouting: 

"Long  live  the  3rd  .    .    .!" 

A  territorial  called  out : 

"Halloa  boys?  We're  coming  on  the  day  after 
to-morrow!" 

"Hm!    At  a  safe  distance !"     Judsi  retorted  gaily. 

The  men  waved  and  smiled  at  their  relations  and 
friends  who  had  come  up,  but  nothing  further;  there 
was  no  chance  of  hanging  behind,  or  falling  out. 
Even  Judsi  soon  gave  up  his  tomfoolery;  each  one  felt 
instinctively  that  a  brave  bearing  would  influence  the 
people's  confidence. 

The  clamour  round  us  continued  to  increase : 

"Long  live  France!     Long  live  the  3rd.    .    .    .  " 

The  distant  voice  of  the  bugles  only  reached  us  in 
snatches  now,  but  we  marched  in  step  all  the  same. 
The  collective  excitement  went  to  my  head.  I 
marched  with  my  eye  fixed  in  front  of  me,  my 
rifle  glued  to  my  shoulder,  a  soldier  among  these 
soldiers. 

When  we  got  into  the  Avenue  de  la  Gare,  I  caught 
sight  of  De  Valpic,  guide  to  the  2nd  section.  He  had 
half-turned  round,  and  was  leaning  to  one  side,  with 
an  anxious  expression.  I  suddenly  thought  of  his 


A  Return  of  Egoism  137 

water-bottle,  filled  just  as  we  were  leaving.  Drops 
must  be  trickling  from  it  now  at  every  step. 

I  was  ashamed  of  myself.  I  despised  myself.  If 
I  did  not  go  quite  as  far  as  to  vow  to  make  amends  for 
this  villainy — and  how  I  should  have  set  about  it  I  do 
not  know — at  least  I  swore  that  it  should  be  my  last; 
yes,  the  very  last. 

I  was  going  to  be  born  anew,  and  quite  different. 
My  heart  was  beating  more  warmly.  Carried  away 
by  the  rapidity  of  the  pace,  uplifted  by  the  untiring 
acclamations  of  the  crowd,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
out-distancing  the  man  I  had  been. 


PART  II 


139 


BOOK  IV 
August  gth-i2th 


CHAPTER  I 
UNDER  WAY 

THE  bugle  sounded.    We  might  get  out. 

Versailles.  How  these  platforms  swarmed!  Ten 
convoys,  like  ours,  with  their  carriages  decorated  in 
the  same  way  with  flags  and  branches  of  green  leaves, 
scribbled  over  with  harmless  inscriptions  and  cari- 
catures, had  turned  out,  topsyturvy,  this  crowd  of 
soldiers  in  chequered  uniforms.  The  hubbub  was 
tremendous.  Everyone  seemed  in  the  best  of  spirits. 
There  were  flowers  in  every  cap.  We  were  for- 
bidden to  go  far.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  thought 
of  such  a  thing,  we  had  to  take  care  not  to  lose  our 
company,  and  section.  We  hardly  ventured  as  far 
as  the  fountains  of  drinking  water.  Having  awaited 
my  turn  for  it,  I  went  up  just  after  Judsi.  I  actually 
felt  inclined  to  smack  him  on  the  back,  he  was  so 
tantalising  with  his  trick  of  drinking  with  his  lips 
glued  to  the  tap. 

Guillaumin  told  me  when  I  joined  him  that  the 
halt  was  to  last  for  an  hour.  We  might  take  a  turn! 
We  amused  ourselves  for  a  moment,  by  watching 

141 


142  Ordeal  by  Fire 

some  horses  being  entrained — by  no  means  an  easy 
job.  They  were  hoisting  them  in  with  slings.  Their 
place  of  export  was  marked  "Remount  depot 
Saint-L6. "  Guillaumin  nudged  me  with  his  elbow. 

"Some  concentration,  what!" 

It  was  true.  All  the  Brittany  lines,  most  of  those 
from  Normandy  and  Atlantic  coast,  converged  there, 
bringing  with  them  the  blood  of  a  third,  or  almost  a 
third,  of  France. 

We  got  back  into  the  train.  Evening  was  coming 
on.  Guillaumin  and  I  were  to  keep  order  in  the  truck; 
forty  men  in  our  charge.  To  begin  with  everyone 
had  submitted  to  the  restrictions  concerning  the 
arrangement  of  packs  .and  rifles.  Now  the  confusion 
began.  A  lot  of  them  had  got  hold  of  their  packs 
again  to  make  a  pillow,  and  most  of  them  began  to 
shed  their  equipment. 

Lamalou  set  about  moving  the  seats.  I  interfered. 
He  began  to  argue  about  it.  Guillaumin  had  to  join 
in,  and  Bouillon  too. 

We  started  off  again.  Were  we  going  to  skirt 
Paris  on  the  north  or  the  south?  We  soon  found 
out.  The  train  approached  the  gradient  at  Buc. 
We  watched  in  vain  for  some  aeroplanes.  Judsi 
exclaimed : 

".Wot  are  you  thinkin'  of!  They've  all  gone  orf 
to.  Berlin!" 

There  were  brief  stops  at  small  stations.  The 
same  scene  was  'repeated  every  time:  idlers  crowd- 
ing up  to  the  railings  to  cheer  us  and  we  replying  with 
shouts  of  "Death  to  the  Bosches!"  "Down  with  the 
Kaiser!"  .solely  out  of  politeness,  in  order  not  to 
disappoint  all  these  people  who  had  waited  so  long. 
There  was  no  longer  the  frank  enthusiasm  there  had 


Under  Way  143 

been  just  now  on  leaving  F .  The  men  were  getting 

tired.  The  Red  Cross  members  who  distributed 
chocolate,  fruit,  and  postcards  in  profusion  were  no 
longer  hailed  with  the  same  delight.  Loriot  and 
Lamalou  ended  by  grumbling  because  they  were  so 
stingy  with  the  wine. 

The  night  fell,  and  with  it  what  was  left  of  cheerful- 
ness. Judsi  was  the  last  to  give  in.  He  picked  out 
well-known  airs  and  set  new  words  to  them,  ineffable 
drivel,  beyond  all  description,  and  probably  of  his 
own  composition.  The  coarsest  sallies  still  raised  a 
few  laughs.  These  echoes  of  an  inane  merriment 
were  becoming  quite  unbearable. 

I  thought  of  shutting  the  men  up  altogether. 
Guillaumin  dissuaded  me  from  doing  so: 

"Take  care  you  don't  get  yourself  disliked!" 

It  was  getting  dark.  Corporal  Donnadieu  lit  the 
section  lantern.  Where  was  it  to  be  hung?  To  that 
hook  in  the  middle  of  the  ceiling.  It  swung  back- 
wards and  forwards  giving  a  flickering  light. 

Everyone  was  making  preparations  now,  for  going 
to  sleep.  A  small  number  occupied  the  seats,  the  rest 
were  stretched  on  the  floor.  They  formed  tangled 
groups  in  the  shadows.  Good-humoured  elbow  digs 
and  expostulations  were  exchanged. 

Guillaumin  had  lain  down  beside  me,  with  his  own 
head  on  his  pack,  and  that  of  one  of  his  corporals 
fitted  between  his  knees.  He  became  expansive 
and  exclaimed: 

"How's  this  for  up-to-date  comfort!" 

It  was  a  stifling  evening.  I  was  hot  and  uncom- 
fortable, as  I  had  not  even  had  the  courage  to  undo 
my  belt.  We  had  had  a  cold  supper.  The  smell  of 
cheese  and  sausage  still  hung  about.  It  was  the  first 


144  Ordeal  by  Fire 

taste  of  the  promiscuousness.  As  long  as  the  two 
doors  were  open,  the  atmosphere  was  breathable. 
But  here  was  Bouguet,  who  had  just  lain  down, 
shouting : 

"What  do  you  say  to  shutting  the  door.  There's  a 
beastly  draught. " 

Some  coarse  aside  of  Judsi's  raised  roars  of 
merriment. 

Lamalou  sat  up. 

"Let's  shut  the  door." 

I  shouted  from  the  end  of  the  carriage: 

"Steady  on!  You  must  leave  room  for  a  little 
air  to  get  in!" 

Lamalou  took  no  notice. 

"Didn't  you  hear?"  asked  Bouillon.  "The  ser- 
geant's orders  were  to  leave  it  open!" 

Bouguet  objected. 

"Do  you  want  us  all  to  catch  our  death  of  cold, 
sergeant?  Besides  it's  the  rule  that  doors  must  be 
kept  shut  at  night. " 

Guillaumin  raised  himself,  and  whispered  to  me: 

"The  chap's  quite  right,  you  know!" 

"How's  that?" 

"The  poilus  will  roll  off  into  the  scenery  when  they 
go  to  sleep." 

This  prospect  was  disquieting.  I  said  no  more,  but 
let  them  do  as  they  liked.  A  minute  afterwards  I 
complained  of  the  stuffiness. 

"Why  not  have  the  ventilator  opened?"  Guillau- 
min suggested. 

"What  ventilator?" 

He  was  obliging  enough  to  get  up  and  feel  about  to 
find  the  bolt.  The  shutter  slid  along  in  the  groove. 
A  scrap  of  sky  showed  through,  and  some  fleecy  clouds 


Under  Way  145 

shining  in  the  moonlight.  I  announced  that  I  should 
like  to  spend  my  night  at  the  window. 

"Are  you  quite  off  your  chump?  Try  to  have  a 
snooze!" 

"I'm  not  sleepy." 

I  groped  along  avoiding  the  slumberers  and  reached 
the  seat  near  the  wall.  I  succeeded  in  pulling  myself 
up,  and  leaning  my  elbows  on  the  opening,  I  breathed 
in  the  delicious  night  air. 

Our  convoy  was  crawling  along  at  a  monotonous 
pace,  through  the  darkness.  It  seemed  of  an  immod- 
erate length,  dark  from  end  to  end,  except  in  the 
centre,  where  the  light  from  the  officer's  saloon  shone 
on  the  ballast.  By  leaning  out  while  we  went  round 
the  curves  I  could  make  out  the  fire  in  the  engine,  a 
curtain  of  purple,  with  fantastic  shadows  moving 
against  it.  Our  whistle  often  blew,  and  others 
answered  stridently  from  the  distance.  The  regular 
clank  of  the  wheels  on  the  rails  was  audible,  and  a 
minute  red  dot  could  sometimes  be  seen  at  the  end  of 
a  straight  piece  of  line — the  tail  light  of  the  train 
ahead  of  us. 

There  were  thousands  of  fleecy  clouds  scattered  over 
the  sky,  all  lit  up  on  the  same  side  by  the  pale  rays  of 
the  moon.  We  were  leaving  the  Vallee  de  la  Bievre. 
The  surrounding  country  was  growing  flat.  A  far- 
spreading  horizon  soon  became  visible  beyond  the 
open  fields.  Then  the  radiance  of  Paris  rose  into  sight. 

It  was  impossible  to  mistake  it  for  the  translucent 
band  of  a  mysterious,  tender  blue  which  still  lingered 
in  the  west.  It  resembled  rather  the  afterglow  of  a 
sunrise  or  of  a  huge  fire.  The  silhouettes  of  houses 
and  trees  stood  out  in  the  foreground  like  Chinese 
shadows  against  the  glowing  distance. 


146  Ordeal  by  Fire 

The  City  of  Light !  I  revelled  in  the  vision  and  the 
symbol,  both  equally  imposing.  What  a  part  this 
city  had  played  in  history!  How  feverishly  she 
throbbed  to-day.  I  blamed  myself  for  having  failed 
to  take  advantage  of  the  magnificent  opportunity 
which  had  been  within  my  reach  the  other  day. 
Ought  I  not,  with  more  fellow-feeling  and  enthusi- 
asm, to  have  mixed  with  the  crowd,  and  roamed  day 
and  night  in  search  of  the  secret  of  Paris,  which  was  also 
the  secret  of  France!  I  remembered  the  boulevards 
brilliant  in  their  multi-coloured  lights,  the  crowd  crush- 
ing against  the  windows  of  the  big  daily  papers.  .  .  . 

Fresh  news  would  be  appearing  on  the  tapes  at  this 
hour.  What  would  it  be?  We  had  not  been  able 
to  get  a  paper  all  day,  but  a  persistent  rumour  had 
reached  us:  "Mulhouse!"  .  .  . 

Was  it  a  prelude  to  victory  ?  Was  Paris  illuminated? 
Perhaps.  .  .  .  But  what  if  it  were  one  of  those  ephem- 
eral successes  ?  What  evil  presentiment  enslaved  me  ? 
Was  I  still  under  Fortin's  influence?  (Fortin  who 
was  never  mentioned  now  except  in  a  whisper.  We 
knew  he  was  confined  to  his  cell:  awaiting  trial  by 
Court  Martial.) 

Paris !  Why  should  I  dream  of  defeat  ?  Paris,  our 
head  and  our  heart!  Paris  as  hostage!  As  martyr 
perhaps!  I  pictured  the  horde  of  Barbarians  pitch- 
ing their  tents  in  the  country  we  were  slipping  through, 
turning  their  guns  on  to  the  glittering  capital.  Where 
would  their  fury  end?  What  would  be  left  of  these 
buildings,  this  glory,  which  seemed  destined  for  im- 
mortality? These  were  gloomy  visions.  Sick  at 
heart,  I  longed  with  more  ardour  than  I  had  lately 
longed  for  anything  on  earth,  for  the  miraculous  mis- 
carriage of  this  probability. 


Under  Way  147 

If  there  was  one  thing  at  which  I  was  astonished,  it 
was  at  not  finding  most  of  my  companions  at  the 
ventilators  like  myself.  To  send  Paris  a  last  greeting ! 
They  must  all,  or  nearly  all,  be  feeling  that  all  they 
counted  dear,  was  shut  up  within  those  walls.  I  who 
had  no  one  there — nor  anywhere  else  either  for 
that  matter — this  thought  shook  me.  Nobody.  My 
father?  Was  a  stranger,  as  I  have  already  said.  I 
thought  nevertheless  of  his  farewell,  of  his  fugitive 
tenderness,  due  to  obscure  ties  of  the  blood.  Who 
else  was  there  ?  Laquarri£re  ?  If  he  thought  of  me  it 
would  certainly  be  to  congratulate  himself  on  being 
safely  in  shelter,  while  I  was  risking.  .  .  .  Nobody. 
There  really  was  nobody ! 

And  yet_  my  eyes  probed  the  darkness,  my  glance 
was  unconsciously  drawn  in  a  certain  direction.  .  .  . 
In  that  suburb,  I  could  imagine  a  street,  a  house, 
r£ .  in  that  house  someone  .  .  .  someone  who  had 
written! — "We  think  of  you  a  great  deal.  ..." 

An  idle  dream  and  one  which  passed. 

There  was  a  metallic  rattle.  We  were  crossing  the 
Seine.  Still  a  few  more  miles  to  go,  through  the  dark 
countryside.  An  important  station  was  coming  soon. 
Myriad  lamps  lit  up  countless  railway  lines. 

Our  speed  slackened,  till  we  slowed  down  to  a 
walking  pace.  We  slowly  skirted  endless  pavements. 
I  could  distinguish  retreating  uniforms  and  piles  of 
arms.  An  artillery  sentry  gave  me  a  friendly  wave. 

"What  station  do  you  come  from?"  I  shouted  to 
him. 
.     ' '  Marseilles ! " .  he  replied. 

His  warm  Southern  accent  had  made  me  start. 
How  many  convoys  had  he  seen  rolling  past  in  the 


148  Ordeal  by  Fire 

same  direction  during  the  few  hours  he  had  been  there 
with  his  battery.  The  concentration!  The  idea  of 
this  gigantic  operation  made  one  think:  these  trains 
whose  time-tables  had  been  arranged  months,  no  years, 
in  advance,  these  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  trains 
flashing  across  the  country  in  every  direction ;  skirting 
gulfs  and  mountains,  crossing  the  rivers,  flowing  in 
from  every  extremity  of  France,  carrying  the  immense 
masses  of  war  material,  and  the  harvest  of  young  men. 
Caught  up  in  this  huge  mechanism,  this  invisible  unity, 
what  a  small  thing  I  was,  for  all  my  pride  of  intellect ! 

A  new  tack  soon  threw  us  off  the  main  lines.  I 
occasionally  turned  round  to  look  into  the  interior  of 
the  carriage,  where  the  men  were  sleeping,  livid  be- 
neath the  swinging  lantern,  like  corpses,  I  thought, 
at  the  bottom  of  a  sunken  submarine. 

I  stayed  like  this  for  a  long  time,  half-awake  and 
half-dreaming.  In  what  direction  were  we  going?  To 
Maubeuge  ?  Or  Chalons  ?  I  remember  a  long  stop  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  on  a  siding  on  the  outskirts 
of  Noisy-le-Sec. 

Some  of  the  men  were  awake,  eating  bread  and 
cheese.  I  felt  a  tap  on  my  shoulder. 

"Well,  are  you  going  to  make  up  your  mind  to  it?" 
Guillaumin  asked  me. 

"To  what?" 

I  yawned. 

"To  take  a  nap.  Why  you're  so  sleepy  you  can 
hardly  stand  up!  Come  along  and  lie  down!" 

"Where?     There's  no  room!" 

"What  about  my  place?" 

I  declined  it  with  thanks.  He  insisted.  Oh,  come 
along!  It  was  his  turn  to  take  the  air! 


Under  Way  149 

Very  well.  I  gave  in.  We  started  off  again.  The 
outlook  was  no  longer  so  attractive.  The  glow  of 
Paris  had  faded  into  the  distance,  and  the  moon  had 
just  sunk  behind  the  deep  blue  horizon. 


CHAPTER  II 

HARASSED,  ALREADY 

WHEN  I  woke,  dawn  was  stealing  in  by  the  door 
which  was  once  more  open.  Judsi  had  installed  him- 
self at  it,  his  legs  dangling  outside.  We  all  looked 
the  worse  for  wear  and  had  puffy  faces. 

Where  were  we?  It  was  dreary,  barren  country, 
an  indefinite  switchback  of  bald  ridges.  The  rocky 
part  of  Champagne  apparently.  Exactly.  A  few 
minutes  later  our  train  drew  up  at  Rheims. 

The  weather  was  dull  and  drizzly.  We  felt  cold 
when  we  got  out :  the  men  began  to  stamp  their  feet. 
We  N.  C.  O.'s  joined  up  together.  Descroix  and 
Humel  complained  bitterly  of  stiffness.  The  filthy 
carriages!  Must  have  been  made  on  purpose  for  us! 
Everyone  was  sighing  for  his  coffee.  Guillaumin 
preached  patience.  Fremont  had  wandered  off  to 
scribble  a  letter.  De  Valpic  was  pale  and  silent  and 
heavy-eyed. 

I  left  them  and  went  in  search  of  some  clean  water. 
When  I  came  back,  tidied  up  and  much  refreshed, 
coffee  had  been  brought.  The  tin  drinking  cups  were 
plunged  at  will  into  the  "dixeys."  It  was  scalding! 
A  real  treat!  There  was  "rooty"  too.  And  the  sun 
came  out:  we  were  reviving. 

Soon,  a  circle  formed  round  Lieutenant  Henriot. 
»  150 


Harassed,  Already  151 

In  order  to  make  himself  pleasant  Playoust  had  put 
certain  questions  to  him  concerning  the  strategical 
situation.  The  other  at  once  owned  that  he  had  had 
certain  hints  from  the  colonel — oh,  it  was  official  then ! 
— certain  indications  .  .  . 

I  drew  near.  He  spread  out  a  map  on  a  seat,  and 
began  to  speak  with  great  fluency.  ...  I  tried  for  a 
moment  to  follow  him,  but  disobliging  shoulders  got 
in  the  way.  He  was  pointing  out  certain  landmarks 
and  routes,  and  giving  the  names  of  towns  and  villages. 
It  was  all  a  closed  book  to  me !  I  got  tired  of  it  and 
went  off;  I  was  inclined  to  mistrust  these  perorations 
by  a  subaltern. 

Our  train  was  shunted  back,  and  we  started  again. 
I  was  tired  and  peevish,  and  fumed  at  the  length  of 
our  journey.  Eighteen  hours  already,  and  we  were 
nowhere  near  the  end ! 

Our  destination  still  remained  a  mystery,  a  problem 
which  disquieted  us. 

Guillaumin  plumped  for  Sedan,  and  worried  me  to 
tell  him  what  I  thought. 

."What  on  earth  does  it  matter  to  me?" 

"Do  you  think  they'll  come  back  as  far  as  that?" 

To  annoy  him,  I  said: 

"Sure  to!" 

He  exclaimed: 

"Well,  to  be  going  on  with,  you  know  we're  at 
Mulhouse!  Absolutely  official!" 

On  the  outskirts  of  Ste.-Menehould,  there  was  a 
prolonged  halt,  without  permission  to  get  out.  An- 
other convoy  was  standing  on  a  side  line.  There  were 
some  poilus  on  the  platform.  Bouillon  drew  at- 
tention to  their  regimental  numbers.  They  belonged 


152  Ordeal  by  Fire 

to  our  division.  The  men  at  once  called  to  each 
other,  and  asked  them  to  join  in  a  drink.  Everyone 
was  delighted.  It  seemed  little  short  of  marvellous 
to  find  neighbours  from  their  part  of  the  world, 
Beaucerons,  so  far  from  home ! 

A  new  start.  The  country  was  becoming  hilly  and 
picturesque.  There  were  some  gorges  and  then  a  long 
tunnel.  There  was  no  more  doubt  about  the  direction 
we  were  taking!  Corporal  Bouguet,  who  had  served 
his  term  with  the  4th,  was  most  emphatic:  we  were 
taking  a  bee-line  to  Verdun ! 

Good!  the  idea  of  fighting  under  the  shelter  of  a 
powerful  fortress  was  not  displeasing. 

Two  hours  more.  The  valley  of  the  Meuse  was 
reached,  Verdun  attained,  and  then  left  behind.  .  .  . 
The  deuce!  Were  they  going  to  detrain  us  at  the 
frontier  in  the  first  line  .  .  .  ? 

No,  a  few  miles  farther  on,  the  train  stopped 
in  the  depths  of  the  country.  There  was  a  bugle  call, 
and  Henriot  shouted: 

"Here  we  are!" 

"Where?" 

"At  Charny,  the  terminus.  Out  you  get!  And  no 
disorder,  you  understand!" 

In  three  minutes  we  were  on  the  ground,  arms  and 
baggage  and  all. 

The  captain  passed  by. 

"You're  not  over-tired?" 

Lamalou  thumped  his  chest. 

"In  the  pink,  sir!" 

"So  much  the  better,  because  you've  got  a  nice  little 
walk  before  you !" 

Some  long  faces  were  pulled.  It  was  nearly  midday. 
We  had  had  nothing  to  eat  and  the  heat  was  killing. 


Harassed,  Already  153 

"Now  we  return  to  business!"  said  Judsi. 

We  went  into  the  neighbouring  field  through  a  gap 
in  the  hedge.  GaudeYeaux  bent  down  and  picked  up 
a  clod  of  earth.  He  sniffed  at  it. 

"Pooh!"  he  said.     "It  ain't  up  to  ours!" 

The  lieutenant  heard  him,  and  reproved  him  for  it. 

"It's  the  same  thing,  it's  French  soil.  It's  what 
we  are  going  to  be  killed  for. " 

Did  he  count  on  producing  an  effect?  The  other 
gazed  at  him,  dumbfounded! 

A  little  walk  indeed !  I  chewed  the  word  with  rage 
during  the  seven  hours  that  this  march  lasted.  Did 
they  think  it  was  the  right  way  .  .  .  ?  The  right  way 
to  discourage  the  men ! 

No  respite  except  the  hourly  halts,  and  they  man- 
aged to  cheat  over  them,  by  not  whistling  until  the 
hour,  or  an  hour  and  five  minutes  was  up,  or  cutting 
them  short  by  two  minutes! 

If  there  was  one  thing  that  astonished  me  it  was  the 
goodwill  and  endurance,  which  I  saw  manifested  all 
round  me.  "Grouse,"  the  first  day?  Oh  no,  that 
was  out  of  the  question!  A  praiseworthy  resolution! 
When  going  through  the  villages,  the  men  found  a 
way,  even  when  absolutely  done  up,  of  putting  on  a 
spurt,  and  making  eyes  at  all  the  pretty  girls! 

Judsi  sang  snatches  of  very  doubtful  songs,  which 
made  some  of  them  laugh,  while  others,  their  more 
flighty  sisters,  blew  us  kisses. 

Corporal  Bouguet  all  at  once  started  a  marching 
song:  the  men  joined  in  the  chorus:  the  captain  did 
not  interfere,  but  the  commanding  officer  came  rushing 
up,  a  pot-bellied  puppet,  perched  up  on  his  big  horse. 
Oh,  come  along!  What  was  all  this?  Would  they 


154  Ordeal  by  Fire 

shut  up?  Would  they  never  think  of  the  war  as  some- 
thing to  be  taken  seriously? 

This  rating  was  u psetting.  Another  incident  helped 
to  damp  their  spirits.  The  distracted  group  we  passed 
on  the  roadside  ...  a  lieutenant,  a  corporal,  the 
cyclist,  and  an  auxiliary  medical  officer,  surrounding 
a  man  stretched  on  the  ground,  a  reservist  who  had  just 
fallen  out.  I  caught  sight  of  a  violet  face  and  glassy 
eyes. 

The  rumour  spread  that  it  was  a  fit. 

The  name  of  the  man  was  soon  discovered;  he  be- 
longed to  the  2  ist  company,  and  was  named  Gaspard 

Me"tairie,  a  coppersmith  from  F .  Dead?  Oh, 

yes!  lying  there  like  a  log!  I  listened  to  the  men's 
remarks.  Poor  wretch!  It  made  one's  heart  bleed. 
So  soon.  And  so  stupidly.  If  it  had  been  some 
of  the  Bosches'  work  there  would  have  been  no- 
thing to  be  said.  But  like  that!  Simply  tired  out! 
Fathers  of  families,  just  think!  Carrying  the  full 
weight!  .  .  .  But  what  was  the  good  of  fussing? 
The  war  would  not  be  over  this  evening! 

"Oh,  a  lot  they  care  wot  becomes  of  us,"  Loriot 
said.  "I'm  done,  I  am!" 

He  retired  on  to  the  footpath. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"     I  shouted  to  him. 

"No  good.     Can't  go  on!" 

"What  can't  goon?" 

"I  can't.     I'm  an  old  trooper,  I  am!" 

He  stopped  and  tried  to  sit  down.  The  whole 
column  slowed  down,  much  interested  and  amused. 

"March up,  confound  you ! " 

The  captain  overtook  us. 

"What's  up?" 

My  nerves  were  on  edge.     I  don't  know  what  put 


155 

the  whim  into  my  head,  but  I  gave  a  dry  description 
of  the  scene  at  which  I  had  assisted,  the  verdict  given 
by  the  Medical  Officer,  and  the  man's  recriminations, 
swearing  that  he  would  make  a  point  of  falling  at  the 
first  shot. 

Loriot  was  hugging  himself  and  pretending  to  be  in 
awful  pain. 

The  captain  did  not  pronounce  an  opinion. 

"Stay  with  him,  Sergeant;  you  will  report  him  to  the 
Medical  Officer." 

So  we  waited.  Loriot  sulking  and  livid  with  rage. 
I  irritated  at  the  thought  that  this  task  ought  to  have 
fallen  to  Playoust,  the  sergeant  of  the  day. 

The  companies,  as  they  marched  past  included  us  in 
the  same  glance  of  ironical  pity. 

Surgeon-Major  Bouchut  recognised  his  "client," 
as  he  called  him,  at  the  first  glance. 

"Ah!  It's  hurting  you,  is  it?  Easy  enough  to  say 
so !  I  can't  examine  you  here.  Come  along,  jump  in 
there!  We  shall  soon  see !" 

Under  my  very  eyes,  Loriot  hoisted  himself  up  into 
the  ambulance,  settled  himself  down  comfortably,  and 
began  to  chat  with  the  orderlies. 

Infuriated  by  my  own  stupidity  and  the  delay  it  had 
cost  me,  I  hurried  on. 

The  road  went  up  and  up.  I  began  to  experience 
the  smothered  sensation  in  the  shoulders  and  chest 
caused  by  having  to  carry  a  pack.  Every  hundred 
yards — and  what  a  bore  it  was — the.  buckle  of  my 
sling  came  undone,  as  the  point,  was.  blunted  and  did 
not  catch. properly,  and  the  rifle  slipped.  .  An-incon-; 
venience  which  could  not  be  remedied, .  and  which 
seemed  likely  to  pursue  me  throughout  the  campaign. 
It  was  about  .four  o '.clock;  the  .sun  was  still  blazing, 


156  Ordeal  by  Fire 

drops  of  perspiration  gathered  inside  the  men's  caps 
and  occasionally  trickled  on  to  the  ground.  To  think 
that  this  march  was  nothing:  mere  child's  play. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  just  as  I  was  about  to  catch 
the  others  up,  my  right  foot  began  to  feel  sore.  I 
remembered  that  the  evening,  they  had  delivered  these 
boots.  ...  At  the  first  halt  I  quickly  took  off  both 
boot  and  putties. 

The  inspection  filled  me  with  consternation.  I  had 
hoped  my  stocking  alone  was  responsible  for  it.  ... 
Not  at  all,  there  was  no  irksome  fold.  It  was  the 
counter  right  enough.  What  was  to  be  done?  The 
fatal  blister  was  gathering.  The  prospect  of  hours  of 
atrocious  pain  stared  me  in  the  face.  The  little  cour- 
age I  had  oozed  away. 

I  was  dying  of  thirst;  I  poured  out  a  cupful.  The 
water  was  warm,  but  it  refreshed  me  all  the  same. 
Catching  sight  of  De  Valpic,  lying  down  with  sunken 
cheeks,  I  went  up  to  him. 

"De  Valpic?" 

He  opened  his  eyes. 

"Will  you  have  .  .  .  a  drink?" 

"But  you  .  .  .?" 

"I've  got  plenty,  don't  you  worry.  I  noticed  .  .  . 
your  water-bottle  is  leaking,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  I  don't  know  how  it  happened.  It's  very 
troublesome. " 

"  Hand  me  your  drinking  cup.  There  now.  Wait 
a  minute! "  I  half -filled  it  for  him,  added  a  few  drops 
of  Ricqles,  and  pulling  my  messtin  out  of  my  haver- 
sack offered  him  some  sugar.  He  took  two  pieces,  but 
greedily  drank  a  mouthful  without  waiting  for  it  to 
melt. 

"Thanks;   my   throat  was  so  terribly  parched." 


Harassed,  Already  157 

A  wave  of  red  flooded  his  cheeks. 

"You're  a  good  sort,  Dreher. " 

I  sat  down  beside  him  and  asked  him  in  a  friendly 
way  whether  he  was  not  awfully  tired? 
•     "I  look  it,  don't  I?" 

"  Oh !    Just  like  everyone  else ! ' ' 

The  whistle  blew !     I  left  him. 

"Cheer  up!" 

But  at  the  next  pause  I  avoided  looking  in  his  direc- 
tion. There  was  only  enough  water  for  me. 

A  few  more  miles.  The  men  were  grumbling  quite 
openly  now.  From  time  to  time  one  would  fall  out, 
and  all  at  once,  or  little  by  little  lose  ground,  and  get 
left  behind  by  the  platoon.  What  was  there  to  be 
said  ?  I  interfered  no  more.  These  fellows  had  not  had 
a  bite  since  five  o'clock  that  morning. 

Were  we  to  leave  these  stragglers  their  rifles,  or  not  ? 

The  subaltern  said  they  were  to  be  taken  away. 

The  result  was  that  those  who  remained  threatened 
to  give  up  in  their  turn.  Two  rifles  to  drag  about,  not 
much!  They  were  quite  willing  to  do  their  bit,  but 
they  were  not  going  to  be  put  upon,  not  them! 

Lieutenant  Henriot  changed  his  mind. 

"Each  man  will  keep  his  own  rifle!" 

"Too  late  now.  How  are  we  to  find  the  owners 
of  them  all?" 

He  got  scared. 

"I  was  wrong.     I  made  a  mistake!"  he  repeated. 

Guillaumin  reassured  him  by  saying  all  the  poilus 
were  sure  to  turn  up. 

One  would  have  thought  that  it  all  amused  him,  the 
long  day's  march,  the  hunger  and  thirst, — everything. 
He  kept  on  joking — rather  too  familiarly  perhaps — 
with  Lamalou  and  Judsi  and  those  of  our  men  who  still 


158  Ordeal  by  Fire 

held  out.  He  even  took  it  into  his  head  to  talk  thea- 
tres to  me !  I  soon  sent  him  off  with  a  flea  in  his  ear, 
as  may  be  imagined.  He  did  not  notice  for  some  time 
that  I  was  limping. 

"Foot  hurting  you?" 

"Yes." 

He  offered  to  carry  my  pack.  I  was  on  the  point  of 
allowing  him  to,  but  Lamalou,  who  was  watching  me 
furtively,  jeered. 

"Halloa,  Sergeant!  You  following  poor  Loriot's 
example?" 

"No.  I've  got  a  sore  foot,"  I  said;  "but  I  am 
going  to  stick  to  it  all  right. " 

On  my  refusal  Guillaumin  took  on  another  lame 
dog's  pack.  Lamalou  soon  followed  his  example. 

I  only  kept  on  automatically.  My  heel  must  be 
quite  raw.  Perhaps  I  was  risking  the  fate  of  my  whole 
campaign.  It  couldn't  be  helped.  In  my  heart  of 
hearts  I  almost  congratulated  myself  on  this  oppor- 
tunity of  escape. 

We  ended  by  breaking  all  ranks.  Sections,  pla- 
toons, and  companies  were  all  mixed  up.  We  were  just 
a  herd,  and  at  the  entrance  to  a  little  hamlet  when 
the  order  was  passed  down  to  shoulder  arms  no  one 
budged.  Not  much !  We're  not  so  green  as  all  that ! 
Give  us  a  bite  o'  some'at  first ! 

But  it  was  not  to  be  so  lightly  disregarded!  The 
captain  rode  down  what  remained  of  our  column,  and 
repeated  the  order,  brandishing  his  whip  furiously. 
The  men  made  up  their  minds  to  obey  it.  We  found 
out  the  reason  for  it  afterwards.  ...  A  general  sur- 
rounded by  his  staff,  was  watching  us  march  past  .  .  . 
someone  whispered  that  it  was  the  general  in  command 
of  the  division. 


Harassed,  Already  159 

It  was  unfortunate  that  this  should  be  his  first 
experience  of  us.  He  took  stock  of  us  superciliously; 
his  forehead  puckered  in  a  frown  of  disillusionment. 
The  men  growled. 

"Like  to  see  you  in  our  place,  old  chap,  with  an 
empty  stomach,  and  a  pack  on  your  back!" 

Oh,  that  arrival  at  our  billets  in  Orne,  a  village  of 
five  hundred  inhabitants,  already  overflowing  with 
troops  of  all  kinds.  Oh,  how  depressed  we  were, 
both  physically  and  morally.  I  was  especially 
exhausted.  There  was  a  complete  lack  of  any  spirit 
of  organisation  among  the  authorities,  and  the  troops 
were  totally  out  of  hand.  We  were  obviously  worth 
nothing  at  all! 

Where  and  how  did  the  men  get  food?  Guillamnin 
luckily  took  charge  of  the  whole  section.  I  believe 
he  bustled  about,  got  hold  of  the  mess-corporal,  and 
was  the  first  to  arrive  with  a  fatigue  party,  at  the  issue 
of  rations  which  took  place  in  the  market-square 
towards  midnight. 

I  had  sacrificed  my  "posse,"  but  I  still  had  some 
bread  and  hard-boiled  eggs  left  that  I  had  brought 

with  me  from  F .  I  took  off  my  accoutrements 

and  boots  and  installed  myself  in  the  best  corner  of 
the  stable  reserved  for  our  lot,  and  slept  on  the  straw 
till  five  o'clock  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  III 

IN   BILLETS 

THE  weather  next  day  was  glorious.  A  fine  rain 
had  fallen.  The  men  now  very  clean  and  spruce, 
wandered  about  the  village,  with  their  caps  cocked 
over  their  ears. 

No  danger  threatened.  No  one  would  have  thought 
we  were  at  war.  And  as  for  the  Bosches,  let  them 
go  hang!  The  natives  had  certainly  said,  shaking 
their  heads,  that  they  had  already  seen  some  Uhlans 
on  the  neighbouring  hills.  Absurd  inventions.  A 
dragoon  whom  we  questioned  burst  out  laughing 
in  our  faces.  The  Bosches!  They  had  indeed  been 
across  the  frontier  for  twenty-four  hours  or  so,  over 
there  towards  Longwy.  They  were  soon  sent  to  the 
right-about.  We  might  sleep  in  peace!  We  had 
the  regulars  in  front  of  us,  about  twenty  regiments 
of  them! 

Some  trenches  had  been  dug  at  the  approaches  to 
the  village,  the  2ist  had  spent  the  night  in  them. 
It  was  one  of  the  regular  amusements  to  go  and  look 
over  them  during  the  day-time.  They  were  very 
unconvincing,  casually  hewn  out  and  occupied.  Orne's 
defensive  organisation!  Who  could  take  it  seriously? 

"  Blowed  if  I  don't  think  our  good  time's  beginning, " 
said  Judsi. 

1 60 


In  Billets  161 

The  villagers  were  really  delightful.  These  poor 
dwellers  by  the  Meuse!  They  did  not  have  much 
of  a  time  afterwards.  Who  would  not  have  become 
embittered  in  their  place?  At  the  outset  we  were 
touched  by  their  cordial,  almost  friendly  reception. 
Many  of  us  went  in  search  of  a  bed.  I  believe  that 
but  few  were  found  which  did  not  already  boast  an 
occupant.  Lamalou's  experience  was  a  case  in  point. 
Other  attachments  were  formed.  On  the  other  hand, 
Playoust  came  to  grief — the  thing  became  known 
immediately — with  the  grocer's  pretty  wife.  He 
revenged  himself  by  attributing  the  mishap  to  the 
regimental  sergeant-major. 

The  outstanding  feature — which  never  varied 
throughout  the  campaign — was  the  catering.  We 
N.  C.  O.'s  messed  together.  But  Descroix  and  his  lot 
were  already  dissatisfied  with  this  arrangement  and 
suggested  that  each  platoon  should  fend  for  itself. 

I  was  doubtful  about  this,  but  Guillaumin  took  me 
aside. 

"Leave  them  alone!     It  will  suit  us  much  better!" 

He  explained  that  he  had  made  a  great  find  in  the 
shape  of  a  top-hole  cook,  a  real  professional.  He 
had  been  chef  at  Bernstein's!!!  The  fellow  would 
perhaps  consent  to  cook  for  three  or  four,  but  not  a 
word! — or  the  officers  would  appropriate  him.  He 
made  me  acquainted  with  the  prodigy,  Gaufreteaa,  a 
smooth-skinned,  cold  creature,  very  much  on  his 
dignity,  who  would  not  bind  himself  in  any  way. 
;  Our  comrades  had  managed  somehow  or  other  to 
get  hold  of  some  wine  at  twenty-four  sous  the  litre,  good 
pale  Lorraine  wine,  on  which  they  feasted  among 
themselves.  You  had  to  pay  two  francs  everywhere 
else  for  a  much  inferior  quality. 


1 62  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Guillaumin  determined  he  would  not  be  outdone, 
and  went  off  in  search  of  it.  He  ended  by  coming 
back  triumphant,  bringing  the  same  wine  at  I  franc  20, 
and  the  wine  merchant  was  to  have  the  bottles  back! 

He  poured  out  several  bumpers  and  made  fun  of 
De  Valpic  for  refusing  to  take  any.  I  suggested 
adding  some  water  to  it.  He  ragged  me  in  turn. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?  If  we've  got  to  be 
knocked  out  at  this  job,  at  least  let's  have  our  money's 
worth  first!" 

This  coarse  tomfoolery  maddened  me.  Was  it  an 
attitude  of  mind  assumed  for  war-time,  to  match  that 
of  those  poor  brutes  of  troopers.  I  sarcastically 
twitted  him  with  it.  He  was  not  at  all  annoyed. 

"Just  what  I'm  trying  for!" 

Thereupon  he  invited  his  corporals  and  mine  to 
empty  new  bottles.  I  could  not  leave  him  in  the  lurch. 
All  these  people  were  drinking  and  rotting  with  him 
round  the  table  in  the  kitchen  of  our  farm.  The  place 
was  rilled  with  the  smell  of  burning  fat.  What  a  scene, 
and  what  a  pastime!  I  was  bored  to  death. 

"I'll  see  you  later!"  I  said,  and  went  off  making 
some  excuse.  I  should  have  liked  to  meet  Fortin  or 
someone  of  that  calibre.  A  pity  they'd  left  him  at 
F ,  but  perhaps  it  might  be  lucky  for  him. 

I  took  a  tum  round  the  neighbouring  billets.  No- 
thing but  men  lying  about  and  a  lot  of  them  had 
spread  into  the  fields  round  about,  and  were  taking  a 
nap  in  the  shade. 

My  foot  was  better.  I  had  painted  it  with  tincture 
of  iodine  that  morning  and  the  day  before. 

I  got  out  of  the  village  without  any  difficulty.  A 
sentry,  far  from  stopping  me,  asked  me  for  some 
tobacco. 


In  Billets  163 

A  hill  near  by  attracted  me.  I  hoped  to  get  a  good 
view  of  the  surrounding  country  from  the  top.  My 
ideas  on  the  topography  of  the  neighbourhood  were 
singularly  confused.  I  knew  the  distance  from  Orne 
to  Verdun,  18  km.  7.,  and  I  was  inclined  to  think 
the  Valley  of  the  Meuse  must  lie  somewhere  near  to 
southwards. 

My  walk  was  not  at  all  satisfying.  From  the 
summit  I  had  aimed  at,  I  could  see  nothing  but 
another  ridge,  crowned  with  a  dark  fringe  of  trees. 
There  was  no  outlet  through  which  I  could  get  a  view. 
I  came  back,  tired  and  disappointed.  Up  there  I  had 
tried  for  a  moment  to  give  rein  to  my  imagination. 
Here  is  my  country — Lorraine,  I  said  to  myself,  and  I 
looked  in  vain  for  that  serene  melancholy,  that 
voluptuous  calm,  in  the  landscape.  ...  It  was  obvi- 
ously yet  another  example  of  poetic  exaggeration. 
It  was  not  unpleasing  country,  but  it  was  more  like 
-^-oh,  anything  you  like  to  name,  Perche,  or  the 
country  round  Paris. 

I  went  back.  On  the  way  I  heard  myself  hailed 
from  behind  a  hedge.  It  was  Playoust's  voice.  I 
went  up  and  found  the  whole  set  of  sergeants  from 
the  22nd.  De  Valpic  alone  was  missing.  I  was  sur- 
prised to  catch  sight  of  Guillaumin,  with  cards  in  his 
hands. 

"What!  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  playing?" 
I  said. 

"Yes,  they're  teaching  me!" 

He  explained  with  great  gusto  that  they  had  come 
to  fetch  him  to  make  up  a  second  four  (Fre*mont  was 
there  too).  He  had  no  gift  for  it.  But  he  was  stick- 
ing to  it  all  the  same.  He  had  already  lost  one  and 
threepence ! 


164  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"And  what  about  you,  old  boy?  Do  you  know 
their  blooming  game?" 

"Yes, "  I  replied  coolly,  "but  it  doesn't  appeal  to  me, 
you  know!" 

I  did  not  linger.  I  bore  him  a  grudge.  If  he  was 
going  over  to  that  lot  he  was  quite  at  liberty  to  do  so, 
of  course,  but  he  need  no  longer  count,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  on  my  society — Oh  dear,  no! 

I  went  to  lie  down.  I  yawned.  I  was  bored  to 
tears. 

For  the  sake  of  something  to  do  I  emptied  my 
pockets  of  their  miscellaneous  contents. 

On  pulling  out  the  packet  of  letter  cards  which  I 
had  brought  quite  by  chance,  I  thought:  Hello,  why 
should  n't  I  write  a  letter? 

But  to  whom  should  it  be  ? 

Not  to  my  father.  I  had  nothing  to  tell  him. 
•As  for  my  brother,  I  had  not  even  got  his  complete 
address.  I  did  not  know  what  company  he  was  in. 
My  brother  Victor!  .  .  .  Why  should  I  be  thinking  of 
him  particularly  just  now?  .  .  .  Where  was  he?  ... 
Somewhere  in  the  Woevre.  Not  very  far  from  me,  no 
doubt. 

What  spirits  was  he  in?  War  was  the  dream  of 
their  life,  their  goal,  their  one  passion,  to  all  these 
soldiers.  What  a  bizarre  idea  it  was.  Simply  a  case 
of  suggestion !  What  did  they  hope  for  from  it,  after 
all  ?  For  the  space  of  a  second  I  had  a  strikingly  clear 
vision  of  him,  calm  and  resolute,  with  his  cap  well 
down  over  his  eyes,  issuing  his  orders. 

The  idea  again  occurred  to  me  of  writing  to  some- 
one— whom  I  knew.  But  I  counted  on  my  fingers;  it 
was  only  three  days;  and  it  would  be  better  to  wait 
until  I  had  something  worth  writing  about. 


In  Billets  165 

When  I  went  out  again  I  found  myself  face  to  face 
with  Henriot. 

"Halloa,  how  are  you  getting  on,  Dreher?"  he  said. 

"Pretty  well,  sir!" 

"Pity  we  get  no  papers!" 

I  saw  that  he  was  bursting  to  have  a  talk,  and,  by 
Jove,  it  would  be  good  policy  to  get  on  good  terms 
with  my  immediate  chief  once  and  for  all.  I  need 
only  imitate  Plaj'oust;  I  asked  him  slyly  what  he 
thought  was  happening. 

He  needed  no  persuasion!  He  was  fully  aware  of 
the  fact  that  I  had  not  been  among  his  audience  the 
day  before,  and  ingenuously  expressed  his  regret. 
De  Valpic  and  I,  he  said,  were  the  two  best-read  men 
in  the  company.  He  would  so  much  like  to  exchange 
ideas  with  us ! 

As  for  exchanging  ideas,  all  I  was  aiming  at  was  to 
get  him  to  trot  his  out  ...  to  get  at  him  in  that  way. 
At  my  request  he  went  to  fetch  a  map  of  the  whole  of 
our  eastern  frontier. 

I  led  him  on  to  various  subjects  which  I  wished  to 
explore,  without  taking  great  pains  about  it:  the 
composition  of  our  army,  the  probable  figure  of  our 
effectives,  our  system  of  fortified  towns. 

He  replied  at  length,  furnishing  information  col- 
lected and  classed  without  much  sense  of  criticism. 
He  placed  the  ideas  he  had  gleaned  from  the  special 
courses  for  officers,  on  the  same  level  with  those  picked 
up  in  certain  technical  reviews,  and  a  great  number 
of  commonplaces  borrowed  from  the  daily  papers. 

But  he  fancied  himself  particular  on  the  questions 
of  strategy. 

The  German  scheme  was  done  for !  Everything 
was  based,  you  see,  on  the  complicity  or,  at  all  events, 


1 66  Ordeal  by  Fire 

the  passivity  of  Belgium.  They  had  concentrated 
four  army  corps  in  their  camps  in  advance,  Treves, 
Malme*dy,  Atles-Lager.  They  would  have  hurled 
them  simultaneously  on  to  the  left  bank  of  the  Meuse, 
and  they  could  have  gone  straight  ahead  across  the 
flat  country.  In  five  days  they  would  have  been 
in  the  Scheldt,  on  the  way  to  Valenciennes.  They 
would  have  reached  the  valley  of  the  Oise,  and  from 
there  have  gone  on  to  Paris.  And  it  might  quite 
likely  have  succeeded !  .  .  . 

He  warmed  to  his  subject. 

They  came  to  grief.  The  Belgians  have  demolished 
forty  thousand  men,  a  whole  army  corps.  The 
English  have  had  time  to  land,  and  we  to  fall  into  line. 
And  what  do  you  say  to  our  retort  in  Alsace  the  other 
day?  We  are  getting  the  entire  control  of  affairs  into 
our  hands. 

His  forefinger  indicated  Mulhouse. 

Look,  we're  back  there  again  and  firmly  based 
there,  for  good,  believe  me!  It's  obviously  ours. 
Take  Strassburg?  No,  not  at  once.  Invest  it  per- 
haps, that's  all.  But  push  straight  on  across  the 
Rhine.  It's  not  so  easy,  but  we  should  spare  nothing 
in  order  to  do  that!  Just  think!  Once  past  'the 
Rhine  all  we  should  have  to  do  would  be  to  go  straight 
ahead,  and  cut  Germany  in  half.  Separate  the 
Northern  Provinces  under  Prussia,  from  Bavaria, 
which  is  not  nearly  so  antagonistic  to  us  really,  and 
the  Russians,  after  having  taken  Cracow  and  Prague, 

will  soon  be  shaking  hands  -with  us!   .  •     • 

.   He  stopped -talking,  and  wiped  his- forehead-     Gaz- 
ing at  his  map  he  seemed   to  regret  that  it  .-did- not 
include  the-  theatre  .of. to-morrow's  victories*...* 
.  I  gazed  at  him  with. surprise  and  mistrust, .-  -But  he 


In  Billets  167 

seemed  so  sure  of  his  ground !  I  knew  these  theories 
were  current  in  higher  military  circles.  These  daring 
anticipations  reminded  me  of  those  expressed  so  many 
times  in  my  presence  by  my  father  and  brother. 

How  the  thought  of  Victor  pursued  me!  I  could 
not  restrain  myself  from  mentioning  him. 

"Oh !    What  is  he  in? "  said  Henriot. 

"The  i6ist  St.  Mihiel." 

"A  crack  regiment  that!" 

"Have  they  been  in  action  yet?" 

"Probably!" 

"And  what  about  us?"  I  said.  "Do  you  think  we 
shall  soon  be  engaged?" 

"I  should  hardly  think  so.  What  is  there  ahead  of 
us?  Luxembourg.  They  violated  it  on  August  2nd. 
A  lot  of  good  it  did  them!  Their  offensive  turned 
northwards.  Now  they've  got  to  defend  themselves. 
I  don't  think  they'll  attempt  anything  much  against 
the  Stenay  gap.  I  don't  think  we're  much  exposed!" 

So  much  the  better !  I  thought. 

"I  personally  should  have  liked  to  fight  in  this 
part  of  the  country. " 

"Do  you  come  from  near  here?" 

"Yes,  from  Villers-sur-Meuse,  about  fifty  miles 
from  here. " 

He  added  a  few  details.  It  was  only  his  second 
post,  and  he  asked  for  nothing  better  than  to  stay 
there  as  long  as  possible.  His  father  had  been  master 
there  before  him,  and  was  buried  there. 

We  are  Lorrains,  you  see,  that's  why  I  made  such  a 
point  of  being  in  the  reserves. 

I  asked  him  naively  if  he  had  ever  thought  of  war. 

"What!     We   never   thought   of   anything   else!" 

I  suddenly  recognised  in  him,  the  obstinacy  and 


1 68  Ordeal  by  Fire 

exaltation  which  had  surprised  me,  as  a  child,  in  the 
inhabitants  of  Emberme'nil. 

I  had  honestly  forgotten  that  such  rancour  survived. 
After  more  than  forty  years !  Revenge  then  was  not 
simply  an  abstract  pretext,  it  corresponded  actually, 
to  a  desire,  a  hatred !  The  old  furnace  still  threw  out 
sparks  in  the  new  generation  capable  of  setting  the 
conflagration  alight  at  any  moment. 

I  could  not  help  blaming  this  fury.  The  stupid 
dislike  of  resignation  and  discretion,  of  that  which 
constituted  men's  happiness. 

Did  I  not,  however,  vaguely  envy  this  impassioned 
tone  and  face? 

Why  did  I  announce: 

"I'm  a  Lorrain  too,  you  know!" 

"Really?"  he  said;  "Oh  well,  I  had  suspected  it, 
just  from  your  name.  What  part  do  you  come  from  ? " 

I  told  him.  He  was  delighted.  He  had  relations 
round  about  LuneVille. 

"We  are  the  only  ones  in  the  platoon.  That  ought 
to  make  us  good  friends,  what?" 

I  felt  that  he  was  moved.  I  pretended  to  be.  But 
I  was  chilled  again.  I  only  thought  like  the  other 
evening,  under  my  father's  gaze:  "la  Lorrain!  In 
what  am  I  a  Lorrain?"  And  the  idea  that  I  should 
have  brothers  and  foes,  just  because  I  was  born  on  this 
side,  and  not  on  that  side  of  a  certain  line,  seemed  to 
me  grotesque. 

It  was  about  time  for  "cookhouse  door"  to  go. 
Our  card-players  reappeared.  I  enjoyed  first  their 
surprise,  then  their  only  thin-veiled  annoyance.  It 
was  particularly  aggravating  for  the  schoolmasters. 
Henriot,  with  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  was  talking 
to  me  as  to  an  intimate  confidant.  They  began  to 


In  Billets  169 

wander  round,  anxious  to  interrupt  us,  but  withheld 
from  doing  so  by  their  deeply-rooted  respect  for  rank. 

Great  Heavens !  if  I  had  guessed  what  would  put  an 
end  to  our  conversation ! 

Henriot  stopped  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a  sen- 
tence. 

"Hsh!    What's  that  .  .  .  ?" 

"That  dull  distant  rumble.  ..." 

The  men  scattered  about  in  the  road  and  in  the 
yard,  were  listening  intently.  Corporal  Bouguet 
who  was  passing  muttered : 

"No,  it  can't  be  .  .   ?" 

It  began  again,  like  the  echo  of  a  peal  of  thunder.  .  .  . 

Then  the  subaltern  pronounced  the  word  I  had 
expected : 

"The  guns!" 

"What?" 

It  ran  along  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth.  The 
guns!  The  guns!  I  shuddered  with  physical  an- 
guish. A  battle  in  progress  over  there,  quite  near  by, 
which  I  felt  would  draw  us  in  and  swallow  us  up. 
The  guns!  Were  they  the  ones  which  would  make  a 
pulp  of  my  body  ? 

Guillaumin  suddenly  appeared  and  seized  me  by  the 
arm. 

"My  heart's  beating.     How  queer  it  is!" 

I  was  stupid  enough  to  swagger. 

"It  reminds  me  of  the  Camp  of  Chalons!" 


CHAPTER  IV 
AN  ALARM. 

THE  guns  went  on  growling  at  intervals  for  an 
hour,  and  then  stopped.  Have  I  explained  that  our 
company  was  quartered  almost  in  the  open?  Too 
much  in  the  open,  apparently.  The  order  came  round 
for  us  to  clear  out,  and  to  squeeze  into  the  smaller 
of  the  two  farms  which  we  occupied. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  uncomfortable  than 
the  stable,  or  rather  the  cattle-shed  which  fell  to  our 
platoon.  It  might  even  have  been  a  pig-stye  to  judge 
by  the  stink!  They  had  contented  themselves  with 
throwing  a  thin  layer  of  straw  on  the  litter  of  dung. 
The  men  grumbled:  Loriot  most  of  all.  I  went  to  see 
for  myself,  the  others  were  in  the  same  predica- 
ment. They  were  openly  discussing  the  ill-feeling 
which  was  beginning  to  establish  itself  between  the 
commanding  officer  and  the  captain.  Every  time 
there  was  a  particularly  filthy  billet  going,  it  would 
be  for  the  22nd ! 

I  was  hesitating  about  lying  down  when  Guillaumin 
came  up  beaming. 

"Breton  certainly  has  a  flair  for  comfortable  quar- 
ters ;  there's  no  denying  it.  Do  you  know  what  they've 
rooted  out?  A  hay-loft.  And  a  clean  one,  too! 

170 


An  Alarm  171 

We'll  have  it  all  to  ourselves.     We  must  get  hold  of 
De  Valpic." 

We  went  to  find  him. 

"Thanks,  it's  awfully  good  of  you!" 

He  assured  us,  though,  that  he  would  prefer  to 
sleep  alongside  some  rick  as  it  was  fine  to-night. 

"You'll  be  frozen!" 

"I  shall  get  some  fresh  air!" 

"As  much  as  you  could  want!" 

Guillaumin  showed  me  the  way.  It  was  behind 
the  outhouses.  A  ladder  was  leaning  up  against  it. 
I  caught  sight  of  Playoust  at  the  window.  He  drew 
his  head  in  immediately.  Descroix  appeared. 

"There's  not  room  for  two!"  he  shouted. 

"How's  that?" 

Little  Humel  showed  up  beside  him! 

"Reserved  for  the  first  platoon!  We  invited 
Guillaumin,  that's  all!" 

"Look  here,  what  about  me!"  I  said  quite  calmly. 

"Impossible!" 

I  said  to  Guillaumin. 

"You  might  have  asked  them  before  you  came  to 
fetch  me!" 

'"Rot!    They'refoolingP'  he  said.     "There's  room 
in  there  for  fifteen  or  twenty. " 

He  gave  me  a  shove. 

"Get  along  up!" 

I  put  my  foot  on  the  first  rung  and  began  to  climb 
up.  Humel  had  called  for  help.  Descroix  seized 
the  ladder  with  both  hands  and  shook  it.  I  nearly 
took  a  toss. 

"The  brute!" 

I  jumped  down.  The  others  up  there  were  howling 
with  laughter.  If  I  was  sickened  by  it,  Guillaumin 


i72  Ordeal  by  Fire 

appeared  more  o  He  set  to  work  to  blackguard 
them,  in  language  very  much  to  the  point.  Play- 
oust  tried  to  appease  them:  "Why  make  such  a  fuss! 
I  was  so  fond  of  being  alone.  It  was  very  good  of 
them  to  offer  him  a  place!  Why  not  bring  the  vis- 
count along  too  straight  away  ? " 

" De  Valpic?  He's  going  to  sleep  in  the  open  air!" 
Humel  yelped. 

"Very  well,  then;  why  can't  Dreher  do  the  same 
thing!" 

I  considered  it  useless  to  insist.  I  should  manage 
all  right,  I  said  to  Guillaumin,  but  I  advised  him  most 
strongly  to  take  advantage  of  the  stroke  of  luck — 
as  he  was  so  thick  with  them ! 

Not  at  all!  He  protested  that  nothing  on  earth 
would  induce  him  to  desert  me.  It  was  shameful, 
the  way  they  had  treated  me.  On  active  service  all 
ought  to  help  one  another.  How  delighted  the 
Bosches  would  have  been  if  they  had  witnessed  the 
scene. 

Playoust  retorted  by  jeering  at  us  and  reaped  an 
easy  harvest  of  guffaws  among  his  accomplices.  Guil- 
laumin unexpectedly  seized  the  ladder,  and  carried 
it  off.  I  went  with  him  laughing,  while  infuriated 
shouts  followed  us. 

We  got  back  to  our  stable. 

"For  us  the  dung!" 

"Yes,  like  Job." 

The  smell  was  sickening,  and  the  worst  of  it  was 
that  my  place  had  been  taken.  Judsi  was  lying  there 
snoring.  I  felt  about  him,  he  shook  himself  and  let 
off  an  impropriety,  which  made  me  recoil.  Luckily 
my  faithful  Bouillon  hailed  me.  He  made  himself 
small  and  I  was  able  to  squeeze  between  him  and 


An  Alarm  173 

Corporal  Donnadieu,  and  with  my  handkerchief  over 
my  nose,  I  soon  fell  fast  asleep 

There  was  an  alarm  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  A 
sudden  clamour  was  heard  in  the  road  and  the  click 
of  bayonets.  To  arms !  To  arms ! 

We  leapt  to  our  feet  and  went  out.  Outside  there 
was  nothing  but  tumult  and  bustling,  indescribable 
confusion,  terrified  creatures  bumping  up  against  each 
other  and  seizing  each  other  by  the  throat.  I  know 
my  heart  was  thumping.  A  night  attack?  Good 
Heavens!  It  was  very  astounding.  .  .  .  And  yet 
the  enemy  was  not  far  away.  .  .  . 

Five  minutes  of  disorder  and  panic.  We  could  not 
have  offered  the  slightest  resistance!  What  was 
happening?  The  captain  had  come  down  and  was 
whistling  incessantly.  I  groped  about  searching  for 
my  section  and  platoon.  They  were  lost!  This 
pale  form!  Lamalou,  in  shirt  sleeves,  by  Jove,  but 
armed,  and  shouting,  and  ready  for  anything.  .  .  . 

What  was  the  matter  after  all  ?  ... 

At  last  the  riddle  was  solved  by  De  Valpic,  who  told 
us  that  a  horse  had  got  loose  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village,  and  its  owner,  a  dragoori,  had  run  after  it 
shouting : 

"Olga!    Olga!" 

A  too  zealous  sentry  had  thought  he  heard  "To 
Arms!"  that  was  all. 

We  laughed  ourselves  hoarse.  But  one  person  who 
was  not  at  all  pleased  was  the  captain.  Awakened 
at  the  first  movements,  he  had  come  rushing  up  in 
haste,  and  had  whistled,  as  I  said.  .  .  .  Guillaumin 
and  I  were  the  only  ones  to  answer.  We  were  the 
only  two  sleeping  with  our  men.  The  others  were 


174  Ordeal  by  Fire 

in  great  difficulties.  How  were  they  to  get  down  from 
the  hay-loft  without  a  ladder?  In  the  dark!  Jump? 
The  regimental  sergeant-major  had  sprained  his 
foot  slightly.  .  .  .  What !  What !  Had  he  been  up 
there!  He  was  the  one  to  get  the  biggest  wigging. 
He  was  horribly  upset  about  it. 

An  explanation  which  followed  between  Guillaumin 
and  Descroix  nearly  ended  in  their  coming  to  blows. 
Playoust  egged  them  on.  Breton  and  I  had  all  we 
could  do  to  keep  them  apart. 

One  thing  pleased  me ;  a  step  Fremont  took. 

"I  was  with  them,"  he  said;  "forgive  me.  They 
are  idiots,  but  I  couldn't  get  down.  They're  all  in  my 
platoon.  They  would  have  led  me  such  a  life.  You're 
not  annoyed  with  me,  I  hope?" 

"Not  at  all." 

The  remainder  of  the  night  was  calmer.  From  four 
o'clock  onwards,  however,  the  distant  sinister  rum- 
bling became  noticeable  again.  There  must  be  some- 
thing serious  doing,  for  this  music  to  strike  up  again  at 
dawn ! 

We  soon  began  to  stretch  and  get  up.  Thanks 
to  my  little  pocket-glass,  I  discovered  some  strange 
eruptions  on  my  face.  They  worried  me.  What 
could  they  be? 

"Spiders,  'rooky,'"     Bouillon  announced  jovially. 

I  was  at  the  pump  in  a  bound,  and  spent  quite  a 
long  time  washing  and  soaping  myself.  In  my 
absence,  coffee  was  prepared  and  handed  round. 
When  I  came  back  there  was  nothing  left  but  a  few 
lukewarm  dregs. 

I  blamed  Bouguet  for  it. 

"  In  future  you'll  see  that  my  coffee  is  kept  for  me ! " 

He  kicked  at  this. 


An  Alarm  175 

"  I  only  have  just  enough  for  my  section.  Sergeant 
Donnadieu  has  one  man  less.  It's  his  job  to  get 
yours." 

I  made  enquiries.     He  was  quite  right. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   THUNDERBOLT 

THE  cannonade,  which  increased  in  intensity  hour 
by  hour,  made  that  morning  a  time  of  agonising  sus- 
pense. For  me,  at  least.  The  men  who  had  already 
got  accustomed  to  the  noise,  paid  no  more  attention 
to  it. 

The  regimental  sergeant-major  had  been  round 
to  inspect  accoutrements.  Some  of  the  men  were 
dropped  on,  poor  Gaudereaux  among  others,  as  he  had 
been  unlucky  enough  to  forget  a  rag  for  his  rifle. 

He  was  ordered  confinement  to  barracks,  but  went 
out  all  the  same.  Ravelli  who  had  met  him  in  the 
village  had  him  arrested  and  taken  to  the  guard- 
room where  he  was  sentenced  by  the  captain  to  four 
days'  confinement. 

Lamalou  commiserated  him  quite  .openly. 

"That's  what  it  is  to  be  so  bloomin'  good-natured. 
Like  to  see  'em  darin'  to  put  upon  me  like  that!" 

The  regimental  sergeant-major  who  overheard 
him  gave  him  a  furious  look,  but  actually  was  afraid 
to  say  anything  and  only  revenged  himself  by  slyly 
warning  him  for  the  next  fatigue. 

In  the  afternoon  Lieutenant  Henriot  came  to  have 
a  chat  with  Guillaumin  and  me.  I  noticed  his  anx- 
iety to  cause  no  more  jealousy.  Catching  sight  of 

176 


A  Thunderbolt  177 

Descroix  and  Humel  who  were  getting  some  fresh 
air  in  the  yard,  he  called  them.  In  this  way  the 
circle  became  enlarged.  Too  much  for  me !  I  bolted. 

When  Guillaumin  came  to  find  me  again,  I  put  on  a 
sarcastic  tone: 

"Thrilling,  what?" 

"Oh  .  .  .  quite  interesting!  You  seemed  to  be 
listening  all  right  yesterday!" 

"Couldn't  help  myself!" 

I  undertook  to  quote  the  conversation  I  had  had 
the  day  before  with  the  little  subaltern.  To  be  honest, 
I  exaggerated  grossly.  I  ridiculed  poor  Henriot, 
and  put  on  a  tremolo,  to  recall  his  words  about  his 
birthplace  where  he  taught,  where  his  father  was 
buried. 

It  seemed  as  if  Guillaumin  only  half  liked  this  skit. 
He  stopped  me. 

"He  may  not  be  a  genius,  but  he's  quite  a  good 
sort." 

I  was  discontented  with  myself  and  with  him. 

I  expected  that  we  should  be  sent  to  relieve  the 
2 ist  in  the  trenches.  I  was  mistaken.  It  was  the 
23rd.  Our  turn  was  skipped.  I  don't  know  why. 

This  cannonade  which  still  persisted  and  seemed  to 
be  drawing  nearer,  unnerved  me.  Where  were  they 
fighting?  What  approximately  were  the  lines  of 
tactical  defence. 

De  Valpic  to  whom  I  happened  to  put  the  question, 
informed  me. 

"The  Loison  and  the  Othain." 

"What  are  they?" 

"Tributaries  of  the  Meuse.  They  both  join  the 
Chiers,  near  Montmddy. " 

"You  are  well  up  in  it." 


1 78  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  smiled;  he  was  going  in  to  lie  down  as  usual. 
The  firing  was  still  going  on.     I  said  to  Bouillon: 
"We  may  be  going  up  one  of  these  days!" 
"Whereto?" 
"  Into  the  firing  line. " 
"Good  luck!" 
"Really,  good  luck?" 

"The  sooner  we  go  there,  the  sooner  the  war  will 
be  over!" 

"But  .  .  .  supposing  we  stay  there ?" 
"Oh  well,  one  end's  as  good  as  another!" 

Towards  evening  someone  announced  that  there 
was  a  convoy  of  wounded  on  the  road.  Fremont 
happened  to  be  beside  me.  I  took  him  by  the  arm: 

"Are  you  coming  to  have  a  look?" 

He  hesitated.     I  took  him  along. 

In  the  principal  street  a  string  of  carts  was  filing 
past,  carrying  unearthly  beings  with  sunken  eyes, 
and  blackened,  ravaged  faces.  They  were  silent 
and  had  dirty  bandages,  some  on  their  heads  and  some 
on  their  arms. 

Our  poilus  had  hurried  up,  and  were  forming  a 
hedge.  They  ventured  to  question  those  who  seemed 
the  least  affected. 

"Well,  lads?     So  you've  given  'em  a  knock?" 

Most  of  them  did  not  reply.  A  few  shook  their  heads. 

"Nothing  to  be  done. " 

"More  likely  them?" 

They  made  a  painful  impression.  More  carts  fol- 
lowed, these  last  drawn  at  a  foot's  pace.  Orderlies 
signed  to  us  that  they  contained  the  badly  wounded. 

Their  time  was  up.  Why  bother  to  transport 
them  even? 


A  Thunderbolt  179 

A  vehicle  passed  at  a  trot  going  in  the  opposite 
direction  empty. 

"What  have  you  done  with  your  cargo?"  shouted 
another  driver. 

"Going  to  load  up  again!  Poor  lads,  turned  into 
corpses,  they  are!" 

Fremont  had  turned  very  pale. 

"Let's  be  off!"  he  murmured. 

"Oh,  rot!"  I  said  rather  fiercely.  "Let's  see  as 
much  as  we  can.  .  .  .  We  may  be  in  their  place 
to-morrow." 

He  stayed.  A  low  cart  appeared,  containing  two 
stretchers.  On  one  of  them  was  an  officer  with  a 
bloodless  face.  He  had  a  compress  on  his  neck  which 
dripped  dark  blood.  On  the  other  there  was  a  young 
beardless  corporal,  whose  respiration  was  rapid  but 
even.  Although  awake,  he  persistently  kept  his 
eyes  closed.  What  could  his  wound  be?  The  orderly 
gave  an  expressive  glance.  A  great-coat  which  had 
been  thrown  over  the  man  hung  down  at  the  knee- 
joints.  His  two  legs  were  gone. 

"No,  no,  come  away!"  Fremont  repeated  with  a 
shudder. 

The  horror  of  it !  And  it  might  so  easily  have  been 
my  turn  to  agonise  to-morrow!  By  the  fault  of  the 
politicians  who  had  let  loose  this  war!  I  cursed 
the  allotted  task,  the  yoke  laid  on  so  many,  and  my 
own  acquiescence. 

Then  my  attention  was  distracted.  An  N.  C.  O.  in 
the  3oth  who  took  an  opportunity  of  getting  out  when 
his  cart  stopped — the  horse  had  lost  a  shoe,  I  believe 
— asked  for  a  drink.  Someone  offered  him  wine. 

"No.     Water!" 

An    uncanny    voice,     hoarse    with    fever.     They 


i8o  Ordeal  by  Fire 

brought  him  some  water.  He  drank  large  gulps  of  it. 
I  watched  him.  What  was  the  matter  with  him,  with 
his  dark  ringed  eyes  and  pinched,  mask-like  face,  and 
his  body  bent  so  queerly ! 

He  began  to  speak  in  short,  staccato  sentences. 
He  described  the  engagement  which  had  taken  place 
the  day  before.  The  long  wait  in  the  trench  under 
shell  fire  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  They  had  not 
seen  the  Bosches,  but  knew  they  were  quite  near  by. 
The  weariness  and  the  enervation  which  increased 
as  the  day  went  on.  The  longing  to  be  done  with  it, 
for  the  losses  were  becoming  serious.  The  effect  of 
the  damned  fairy  tale  accredited  by  the  newspapers 
and  even  by  the  communiques,  according  to  which 
the  enemy  could  never  stand  up  against  the  bayonet. 
You  could  see  the  men  half-pulling  them  out,  the 
precious  things,  and  looking  at  them  longingly,  so 
slim  and  sharp  and  shining  .  .  . ! 

And  then  at  the  end  of  the  day  the  stroke  of  mad- 
ness .  .  .!  Word  had  been  passed  along,  no  one 
knew  where  it  started  from,  "  Fix  bayonets :  Charge!" 
The  order  rolled  on  from  company  to  company.  They 
had  got  up  man  by  man  then  in  ranks  .  .  .  Forward ! 
They  had  rushed  out,  they  were  covering  the  ground 
at  a  tremendous  pace.  They  felt  that  their  opponents 
were  there,  petrified.  They  were  just  on  the  point  of 
falling  upon  them.  They  yelled.  No  retort.  Quicker, 
quicker !  It  was  really  marvellous  .  .  . ! 

But  suddenly  they  realised  their  mistake.  Too 
late.  There  was  an  echo  of  terror.  Along  this 
plantation  of  trees  there  was  a  river.  They  calcu- 
lated it's  width.  Not  very  wide,  but  too  wide  to  clear 
at  a  jump,  all  the  same ! 

"The  Othain?"  I  suggested. 


A  Thunderbolt  181 

"How  should  I  know!" 

And  then — it  was  all  pre-arranged  of  course ! — then 
the  enemy  had  opened  fire  with  their  machine  guns  at 
two  hundred  yards.  They  all  flung  themselves  flat! 
.  .  .  What  a  panic  there  had  been.  The  men  had 
thrown  themselves  desperately  into  the  dark  icy  water, 
drowning  themselves  among  the  rushes  under  the  very 
eyes  of  their  companions.  .  .  .  The  rest  who  had 
no  entrenching  tools  with  them,  or  packs  either,  were 
reduced  to  digging  themselves  in  with  their  pocket 
knives  and  their  nails.  The  enemy,  who  were  coming 
nearer,  calmly  continued  to  ply  their  infernal  "tea 
kettle"  for  a  whole  hour.  The  result  being  that 
there  was  not  a  man  left  out  of  the  two  bat- 
talions engaged.  Not  one,  untouched!  All  killed  or 
wounded ! 

"And  what  about  you,  Sergeant  ? "  asked  Donnadieu, 
the  little  red-haired  corporal. 

"Me?" 

He  pulled  a  wry  face. 

"Napoo'd!" 

"How  do  you  mean,  napoo'd,"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  I've  got  a  ball  in  my  stomach — and  as  they 
have  not  operated — — " 

Ah!  that  explained  his  being  so  doubled  up!  He 
climbed  back  into  his  cart. 

"Well,  so  long,  you  fellows.  Hope  you'll  have 
better  luck." 

He  added: 

"Oh!  it's  blooming  funny,  this  war!" 

We  were  subdued  and  silent.     Then  Judsi  jeered. 

"  Oh,  dash  it  all,  the  bloke  must  be  pilin'  it.  on.  We 
may  'ave  been  mauled  a  bit,  likely  as  not,  but  wot 
about  them — with  our  75*5 " 


1 82  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"You're  right  there,"  Bouillon  exclaimed. 

Another  private,  who  was  wounded  in  the  arm, 
shouted  gaily  as  he  passed. 

"The  comedy's  over  for  this  child. " 

"Wot,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you're  legging  it  after 
the  first  act,  you  waster?" 

He  had  good  reason  to  rejoice.  I  would  have 
given  all  I  possessed  to  be  in  that  man's  shoes. 

After  this,  excitement  reigned.  The  rumour  spread 
that  a  start  was  near,  in  fact  imminent.  The  sub- 
altern assured  them  in  vain  that  he  knew  nothing  of  it, 
that  he  did  not  think.  .  .  .  The  men  repeated  the 
words  picked  up  by  the  captain's  orderly. 

"Luckily  there'll  be  a  moon  to-night!" 

Curfew  time  arrived,  however,  without  anything 
happening  and  we  turned  in. 

But  a  little  before  midnight  the  quartermaster's 
voice  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"Turn  out !     Marching  kit ! " 

We  were  in  full  harness  in  no  time.  I  went  out.  I 
came  across  Henriot  and  asked  him. 

"Are  we  really  off?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"Any  news?" 

"Hm!  I've  just  had  a  talk  with  a  subaltern  who's 
come  down  from  the  Woevre. " 

"From  what  part  exactly? " 

"Flirey." 

The  name  struck  me.  I  remembered  having  heard 
it  in  my  father's  mouth. 

"Is  he  still  there,  the  subaltern  you  mentioned?" 

"I  think  so;  yes,  look  there'" 

I  caught  sight  of  the  silhouette  of  a  cavalry  officer. 


A  Thunderbolt  183 

I  went  up  to  him  spurred  on  by  a  singular  presenti- 
ment. 

"I  hear  you've  been  near  Flirey  during  the  last  fe.w 
days,  sir.  ..." 

"Exactly." 

I  tried  to  make  out  his  regimental  number. 

"Did  you  by  any  chance  come  across  the  i6ist?" 

"Rather!  I  was  attached  to  them  for  rations  for 
three  days!" 

I  hesitated. 

"You  don't  happen  to  remember  a  Lieutenant 
Dreher?" 

He  repeated: 

"Dreher?" 

"Yes." 

"A  big  fair  fellow;  a  good-looking  chap? " 

"Yes." 

"His  picket  was  surprised.     He  was  killed!" 

"No!" 

"Excuse  me;  I  saw  him  being  carried  away. 
He  had  a  bullet  in  his  head.  Did  you  know  him, 
Sergeant?" 


BOOK  V 
August  i2th-ijth 


CHAPTER  VI 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE   FIRING   LINE 

MY  brother!  My  brother  killed !  I  went  off,  with- 
out a  word  in  reply,  and  lost  myself  in  the  darkness. 
I  was  stupefied.  My  brother  killed!  I  was  on  the 
point  of  fainting.  And  then,  in  a  few  minutes,  I 
regained  my  control.  I  had  the  impression  of  having 
advanced  a  stage;  of  an  awakening. 

Finished,  and  done  with  my  r61e  as  onlooker  in  all 
these  things.  No  more  detached,  distant  pity  for 
me  like  that  with  which  I  had  been  inspired  by  those 
dying  men  just  now.  How  my  blood  rushed  through 
my  veins.  I  conjured  up  a  vision  of  my  brother  alive, 
leading  his  men.  I  saw  him  totter  and  fall.  They 
picked  him  up,  stone  dead!  With  a  hole  through  his 
forehead!  That  was  the  end.  There  was  no  more 
to  be  done  but  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  all 
that  remained  of  him ! 

Henriot  passed  me  again,  buckling  the  strap  of  his 
revolver.  He  asked  me  casually : 

"  Well,  did  you  speak  to  him?  " 

I  was  on  the  point  of  saying  to  him. 
184 


On  the  Way  to  the  Firing  Line    185 

"My  broth'er  .  .  .  you  know,  my  brother." 

But  a  feeling  of  shyness  prevented  me,  the  idea  of 
confiding  in  anyone  was  repugnant  to  me.  .  .  . 
Guillaumin  appeared  in  his  turn,  his  k£pi  worn 
square;  I  did  not  say  anything  to  him  either:  the  idea 
of  forcedly  conventional  phrases  sickened  me. 

We  formed  into  platoons.  Roll-call.  Nobody 
missing  in  our  lot. 

The  men  were  joking  in  spite  of  our  instructions. 
Judsi's  nasal  intonations  could  be  distinguished. 

"Halloa,  Loriot,  you  old  rotter,  you  going  to  march? 
Didn't  the  M.  0.  recognise  you?" 

Each  one's  a  bigger  fool  than  the  last ! 

Loriot  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Corporal  Donnadieu  was  the  only  one  who  looked 
thoughtful  and  absorbed.  An  agriculturalist,  with 
delicate  features,  and  a  sandy  moustache;  I  liked 
him  for  his  conscientiousness  and  zeal.  He  suddenly 
turned  to  me,  and  said  in  a  whisper: 

"So  we're  going  up  to  the  front,  you  think,  Ser- 
geant?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Already?" 

"Already." 

"How  many  will  stay  there?" 

He  looked  as  if  he  were  reckoning  up  the  number  of 
victims  around  us.  I  said  wearily : 

"Oh,  as  to  that!" 

He  was  silent.     I  asked  him  if  he  was  married. 

"Yes,  Sergeant." 

"Any  children?" 

"One  of  fifteen  months,  and  another  ...  on  the 
way!" 

Looking  down  at  the  ground,  he  sighed. 


1 86  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"How  stupid  it  is  to  fight!" 

I  thought  how  in  our  camp,  and  no  doubt  in  the 
opposite  camps  too,  nearly  every  individual  was  pri- 
vately thinking  the  same  thing!  And  yet  each  one 
bowed  his  head  and  went  on.  Poor  human  race! 

We  started  off.  The  night  was  cool  and  clear.  A 
good  one  to  march  on. 

Guillaumin  came  to  keep  me  company.  He  an- 
nounced that  he  was  in  "the  pink  "  and  joked  below  his 
breath  with  his  men  and  mine,  whom  he  already 
knew  better  than  I  did.  He  forced  me  to  share  his 
good  humour.  It  may  be  imagined  that  I  did  not 
rise  much,  though  I  avoided  looking  too  anxious.  I 
dreaded  a  direct  question  and  intended  to  withdraw 
into  myself  alone  with  my  sorrow. 

He  ended  by  getting  tired  of  it  and  left  me,  but 
then  it  was  the  subaltern's  turn  to  hang  on  to  me. 
It  was  difficult  to  escape  him.  It  was  in  vain  that  I 
purposely  arranged  to  walk  so  that  he  was  forced 
to  the  side  of  the  road,  where  he  kept  stumbling  over 
endless  obstacles  such  as  ruts  and  heaps  of  flints.  He 
did  not  lose  heart,  and  I  had  to  put  up  with  a  new 
explanation  of  the  situation.  Then  he  tried  to  make 
out  where  we  were.  Every  other  minute  I  saw  him 
consulting  his  map  with  the  aid  of  his  electric  torch. 

""Look,  we're  following  this  road. " 

He  must  have  made  a  mistake,  at  some  cross  roads. 
Contrary  to  his  expectation  we  did  not  cross  the  high 
road  to  Etain.  Then  he  tried  to  take  his  bearings 
by  the  heavens,  the  Great  Wain,  and  the  Polar  Star. 

I  no  longer  even  pretended  to  take  an  interest.  I 
thirsted  for  solitude.  I  took  advantage  of  a  moment 
when  he  left  me  to  go  to  the  captain,  to  sign  to  Bouil- 
lon. With  this  place  filled,  I  was  saved. 


On  the  Way  to  the  Firing  Line    187 

I  went  on  automatically  like  a  beast  of  burden.  The 
weariness,  and  perspiration,  the  crushing  weight  of 
the  pack,  the  bumping  of  the  haversack  and  the 
water-bottle,  the  pressure  of  the  crossed  straps,  all 
that  combined,  almost  took  away  the  consciousness 
of  existence.  A  vague  regret  survived,  however. 

I  mechanically  repeated  to  myself  from  time  to 
time:  "My  brother  has  been  killed,  my  brother  has 
been  killed  ..."  But  these  words  conveyed  hardly 
anything  to  my  mind,  my  grief  seemed  to  be  numbed. 
I  confusedly  flattered  myself  that  just  now,  at  the 
first  respite,  it  would  awake,  awful  and  sweet,  and 
envelop  me  in  its  generous  flood. 

Another  obsession,  this  one  very  ordinary  and 
almost  humiliating,  was  the  rubbed  place  on  my  heel. 
It  was  not  cured  and  I  had  struggled  in  vain  to  break 
the  counter.  The  same  rub  at  each  step.  On  the 
uneven,  stony  surface  of  the  bad  roads  we  were  follow- 
ing, I  often  made  a  false  step.  So  great  was  my 
exhaustion  that  I  no  longer  even  took  the  trouble  to 
throw  my  weight  on  to  the  tip  of  my  foot  in  order  to 
lessen  the  painful  contact. 

A  high  road  at  last.  In  a  neighbouring  field  we 
caught  sight  of  some  teams  and  forage  and  ammuni- 
tion waggons. 

"An  artillery  park,"  Henriot  shouted  across 
Bouillon's  head. 

A  little  farther  on  we  passed  a  troop  of  cavalry 
wrapped  in  their  long  dark  blue  great-coats.  Our 
poilus  expressed  their  envy  of  them  aloud. 

"War's  a  picnic  to  those  chaps!" 

It  was  still  quite  dark — we  were  going  through  a 
forest  when  the  cannonade  started  again,  abrupt  and 
violent.  So  near  this  time.  Everyone  started  at  it. 


i88  Ordeal  by  Fire 

It  rumbled  and  roared  on  every  side.  It  felt 
exactly  like  being  in  the  middle  of  a  battle.  And 
what  a  striking  contrast  there  was  between  the  silence, 
the  sweet-scented  air,  and  the  calm  of  the  woods, 
and  this  crashing  and  thundering !  We  were  alone  on 
this  road,  the  moon  had  just  risen;  a  gentle  breeze 
caressed  the  little  flowers  on  the  slope,  and  the  moss 
damp  with  dew. 

Day  was  breaking  when  we  left  the  wood. 

We  advanced  across  a  slightly  sloping  upland. 

"Halt!" 

Rows  and  rows  of  piled  arms  stretched  away  into  the 
distance.  There  was  a  brigade,  or  perhaps  a  division 
there.  We  counted  on  a  rest  worth  having.  But 
a  whirring  noise  was  heard.  We  looked  up.  One, 
no  two  German  aeroplanes,  like  the  silhouettes  of  evil- 
looking  birds,  were  easily  recognisable. 

A  neighbouring  company  fired  a  volley  at  them. 
They  continued  to  flutter  above  us  turning  and  twist- 
ing insolently.  The  men  shook  their  fists  at  them. 
And  the  same  thought  occurred  to  us  all :  What  were 
our  aeroplanes  doing?  A  third  Taube  arrived  and 
dropped  a  rocket. 

"The  devil!" 

"Look  out!"  shouted  Henriot.  "We've  been 
marked  right  enough!  We  shall  catch  it  hot!" 

The  alarm  was  given.  We  scattered  at  the  double 
and  threw  ourselves  down,  and  shivered  in  the  icy 
dawn.  The  expected  shells  did  not  come.  The 
captain  sent  for  the  subaltern. 

"To  give  him  a  wigging, "  said  Descroix. 

Playoust  jeered. 

"He  talked  of  catching  it  hot!  I  see  he  was  quite 
right  about  it!" 


On  the  Way  to  the  Firing  Line    189 

The  warning  had  sufficed.  The  big  detachment 
collected  there,  seemed  to  have  evaporated.  Some 
platoons  were  disappearing  ahead  over  the  neighbour- 
ing ridge. 

Were  we  to  follow?  Not  at  all.  We  were  taken 
back,  on  the  contrary,  as  far  as  the  wood.  We  all 
went  into  it,  and  the  order  was  given  to  pile  arms. 
We  might  rest,  but  were  not  to  go  far  away! 


CHAPTER  VII 

I   EXAMINE  MY  CONSCIENCE 

I  WENT  to  lie  down  a  little  way  off,  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree.  At  last  I  had  a  free  moment.  At  last  I  belonged 
to  myself ! 

The  funereal  refrain  resounded  in  me  anew:  Victor 
killed!  I  expected  .  .  .  Dead,  dead,  my  brother! 
A  procession  of  regrets  was  bound  to  follow !  In  spite ' 
of  myself,  paltry  worries  came  back  to  annoy  me,  my 
sore  foot  as  usual.  I  lost  my  temper.  Despicable 
solicitude !  When  I  had  been  so  hard  hit ! 

Revolving  these  thoughts  in  my  mind,  I  was  sud- 
denly seized  with  terror,  with  that  terror  which  always 
freezes  me  at  the  sudden  disappearance  of  any  being 
with  whom  I  have  come  into  contact.  But  for  all  this 
terror  I  must  confess  that  I  was  only  moderately 
afflicted,  however  reluctant  I  might  be  to  admit  it. 

It  went  no  doubt  to  prove  that  I  was  incapable  of 
moral  suffering.  It  filled  me  with  shame.  I  longed 
ardently  to  overcome  it.  But  in  what  way?  Who 
could  believe  that  I  went  as  far  as  to  ask  myself, 
"What  happens  when  one  loses  an  only  brother;  how 
does  one  feel?" 

And  then  all  at  once  I  lost  patience.  Come  along ! 
Come  along!  Let's  be  frank.  Had  I  not  sworn 
long  ago  to  avoid  all  juggling  with  words.  No 

190 


I  Examine  My  Conscience        191 

shammed  grief  for  me!  Quite  true  I  had  lost  my 
brother!  But  what  was  he  to  me?  I  remember 
the  impression,  corroborated  so  often,  that  we  had 
nothing  in  common.  He,  the  classical  type  of  soldier, 
a  slave  to  his  convictions.  I,  reared  on  philosophy, 
moulded  of  doubt  and  detachment.  A  brother  to 
whom  I  had  never  for  a  moment  opened  my  heart,  with 
whom  I  had  had  no  intimate  converse.  How  pitifully 
trite,  too,  our  correspondence  had  been!  He  for  his 
part  lived  engrossed  in  the  wife  chosen  and  schooled 
to  his  liking,  and  in  his  children,  who  interested  me 
only  as  being  pretty  little  creatures.  My  brother 
simply  by  an  accident  of  birth!  I  obviously  could 
not  mourn  for  him  in  the  same  way  as  for  some- 
one I  had  loved ! 

This  reasoning  calmed  me.  But  the  question  still 
persisted  mechanically:  "Then  whom  did  I  love?" 
Suddenly  the  answer,  the  cruel  answer,  presented 
itself:  "No  one  on  earth!  I  was  quite  alone!" 

Why  was  the  thought  of  my  heart  withered  beyond 
all  help,  so  odious  to  me  to-day?  Why,  in  order  to 
dispel  it,  was  I  driven  to  conjure  up  the  sorrow 
which  years  and  years  ago  had  made  my  child's 
heart  bleed? 

My  mother.  My  sweet  mother.  Fourteen  years 
had  passed  in  vain,  since  that  terrible  day;  the  wound 
had  never  healed.  She  had  been  ill  no  time;  a  bad 
attack  of  influenza,  a  great  deal  of  fever,  threatened 
pneumonia.  I  had  spent  part  of  the  afternoon  in  her 
room.  She  complained  of  nothing  but  thirst.  I  got 
her  what  she  wanted  and  reminded  her  when  it  was 
time  to  take  her  medicine.  She  was  not  very  much 
pulled  down.  I  remember  that  she  had  congratulated 
me  on  obtaining  a  good  place  in  Latin  prose.  Some 


192  Ordeal  by  Fire 

artless  remark  on  the  maid's  part  had  tickled  us  both. 
.  .  .  And  that  night  the  hospital  nurse  who  had 
arrived  a  few  hours  before,  knocked  at  my  door,  panic- 
stricken.  ...  It  was  all  over.  What  a  thunderbolt 
it  had  been. 

I  felt  my  heart  swell  and  my  eyes  fill  again  at 
the  memory  of  it !  I  still  mourned  for  her  to-day, 
for  her,  for  her!  So  I  was  not  quite  lacking  in  all 
humane  feeling.  And  it  was  not  my  fault  if  the 
present  stroke  of  destiny  failed  to  move  me  at  all 
deeply. 

I  felt  softened,  however.  The  dear  shade  exhaled 
some  tender  property.  I  had  been  my  mother's 
confidant  as  a  child.  It  was  to  me  that  she  liked 
to  unbosom  herself,  morning  and  evening,  as  she  bent 
her  harmonious  face  over  my  face.  She  used  to 
say  to  me:  "We  two  understand  each  other,  don't 
we?" 

Had  she  not  once  or  twice  gently  and  seriously 
confided  in  me  the  secret  of  certain  fears.  Supposing 
anything  were  to  happen  to  her,  she  seemed  to  fear 
for  the  future  union  of  the  family.  She  felt  that  she 
was  the  bond  between  us,  that  as  long  as  she  was 
alive,  she  concentrated  our  affections.  My  father, 
without  entirely  fathoming  her,  adored  her,  and  so 
did  my  brother,  though  brought  up  away  from  her 
at  school.  If  she  were  the  first  to  go.  ...  It  was 
an  odd  presentiment. 

So  my  mother  had  foreseen  this  estrangement  be- 
tween beings  of  the  same  blood;  had  grieved  about  it 
beforehand.  Alas !  she  could  never  have  believed  that 
the  breech  could  have  yawned  so  large.  ...  If  she 
could  have  suspected  that  a  day  would  come  when 
her  Michel  would  hear  of  the  other's  death  with  dry 


I  Examine  My  Conscience        193 

eyes  and  an  untouched  heart,  what  bitterness  it  would 
have  been  to  her!  The  thought  weighed  on  my 
mind. 

I  got  up  and  walked  a  few  steps.  I  was  limping 
slightly. 

Boom !  Boom !  Boom !  Ever  since  it  had  been  light, 
the  deafening  uproar  had  redoubled. 

Fremont  who  was  lying  on  his  side  gave  me  a 
friendly  wave. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?" 

"Writing  my  diary. " 

He  waved  a  bundle  of  closely  written  sheets. 

"My  wife  can't  grumble!  I  sent  her  the  same 
amount  yesterday. " 

"Are  you  telling  her  that  we  can  hear  firing?" 

"Rather  not!  I'm  giving  her  a  description  of  our 
humdrum  existence  at  Orne. " 

"Will  you  lend  me  your  stylo,  when  you've  fin- 
ished?" I  asked. 

" Half  a  minute!     I'm  just  ending  it  off. " 

He  got  up. 

"  I  recommend  you  to  try  my  desk;  this  big  stone. 
Most  handy!  Got  some  writing  paper?" 

"Yes,  thanks." 

I  settled  down.  The  idea  of  writing  had  been  put 
into  my  head  by  the  sight  of  Fremont.  By  doing  so  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  might  atone  for  or  lessen  my  lack 
of  ... 

I  sent  my  condolences  first  of  all  to  my  father,  to 
whom  Victor  was  everything;  his  sole  object  in  exist- 
ence. Fragments  of  a  recent  conversation  floated 
across  my  mind.  In  what  a  voice  he  had  said:  "  They 
will  nearly  all  stay  there!"  The  old  Spartan!  But 
had  he  not  counted  too  much  on  his  strength  of  mind. 

13 


194  Ordeal  by  Fire 

.  .  .  And  yet,  no.  I  was  certain  of  his  unshakable 
constancy.  I  foresaw  that  in  case  of  victory,  the  old 
man  would  not  utter  a  complaint,  but  would  con- 
gratulate himself  on  having  contributed  to  it  by  his 
loss. 

Oh,  come  along.  It  had  got  to  be  done.  .  .  .  Luckily 
I  need  not  write  much.  The  noise  of  the  cannonade 
was  a  good  excuse  for  brevity.  A  few  sentences  would 
be  enough,  a  suitable  expression  of  my  compassion.  I 
signed  it.  Then  I  wrote  a  line  to  my  sister-in-law. 
That  of  course  was  obligatory.  Poor  little  woman! 
A  widow,  at  twenty-four,  with  two  kids.  .  .  .  The 
idea  of  her  loneliness  and  misery  saddened  me.  My 
pen  raced  over  the  paper.  I  was  soon  at  the  end  of  a 
sheet. 

I  fastened  up  these  letters  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
at  having  done  my  duty.  But  it  suddenly  struck  me 
that  I  could  not  send  them.  They  would  run  the  risk 
of  getting  there  before  the  official  intimation.  I  shud- 
dered at  the  idea. 

Then  why  should  I  have  been  in  such  a  hurry  ? 

Meanwhile  I  felt  about  in  my  pocket,  and  pulled 
out  a  third  card.  Did  I  realise  at  once  where  my 
steps  were  taking  me.  I  think  not.  I  had  only 
written  the  heading.  .  .  .  And  yet!  I  was  smiling; 
but  I  was  strangely  troubled. 

A  line  to  announce  this  loss  which  clouded  my 
campaign,  a  pitying  allusion  to  the  misery  of  the 
survivor.  What  should  I  add?  I  was  not  dis- 
satisfied with  the  manly  words  in  which  I  describe  us 
as  sending  a  friendly  greeting  to  a  few  beings  in  the 
world,  just  as  we  were  about  to  hurl  ourselves  into  the 
ghastly  furnace. 

I  re-read  them  with  a  smile,  half-tender,  half-scepti- 


I  Examine  My  Conscience        195 

cal,  and  slowly  and  rather  dreamily,  I  addressed  the 
envelope. 

Mademoiselle   Jeannine   Landry 
rue  Faidherbe. 

St-Mande*. 

When  should  I  be  able  to  despatch  this  letter? 
Perhaps  I  should  fall  with  it  on  my  breast.  .  .  . 
And  people  would  think  I  had  been  writing  to  my 
fiancee ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AWAITING  OUR  CUE 

I  HAD  got  up  again.  The  inflamed  place  on  my  heel 
was  becoming  intolerable.  I  resigned  myself  to  tak- 
ing off  my  shoes  and  stockings. 

The  head  which  had  formed  yesterday  had  been 
pulled  off.  It  had  a  very  unhealthy  look.  An  abscess 
would  probably  form. 

What  could  I  do ?  Report  sick?  For  a  sore  on  my 
foot!  And  just  now  too.  But  my  claim  would  not 
be  allowed.  Bouchut  would  not  look  at  me !  I  had 
seen  poor  wretches  at  the  manoeuvres  forced  to  march 
with  gory  feet,  and  with  septic  gatherings  from  which 
blood  oozed  at  the  pressure.  .  .  .  No,  there  was  no 
hope  for  me  there !  I  must  go  on  then,  but  in  future 
should  have  to  endure  fresh  torture  at  each  step  I  took. 

Guillaumin  had  joined  me. 

"Your  foot  again ?     Let's  have  a  look ! " 

He  bent  down  and  examined  it. 

The  counter!  Oh!  be  blowed  to  it!  That  is  a 
bore!  Why  go  out  of  your  way  to  get  something 
different  from  the  regulation  boots.  I'm  delighted 
with  mine.  Still  it  can't  be  helped.  Something  must 
be  done  for  this." 

I  explained  that  I  had  treated  myself  with  tincture 
of  iodine. 

196 


Awaiting  Our  Cue  197 

"Diluted,  I  hope?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

I  learnt  from  him  that  the  strength  supplied  now 
was  too  caustic. 

"Some  picric  acid  is  what  you  want  on  there  now. " 

"You  haven't  got  any,  I  suppose?" 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  I've  got  a  little  bit  of 
everything!" 

He  went  off  and  soon  came  back,  with  a  small  bottle 
and  a  brush  which  he  carefully  took  out  of  a  glass  tube. 

"Stings  a  bit,  doesn't  it?" 

He  had  also  brought  a  bit  of  linen.  He  deftly 
bound  up  my  ankle.  I  admired  his  dexterity. 

"Where  did  you  learn  it?" 

"Hunting,  of  course!  That's  the  way  to  get 
sprains." 

He  added: 

"I  think  that'll  do  until  to-morrow!" 

He  got  hold  of  my  boot. 

"This  filthy  counter.  That's  what's  the  matter. 
If  only  there  was  a  way  ..." 

"Of  doing  what?" 

"  With  some  scissors  .  .  .  I've  got  some  of  them  too, 
in  my  housewife." 

Another  journey.  When  he  had  got  back  and 
adjusted  his  eye-glass  he  set  to  work  to  snip  and 
shape.  Particles  of  leather  kept  falling. 

"You're  not  spoiling  it?" 

"Don't  you  worry!  I'm  an  adept  at  this  sort  of 
thing!" 

He  had  finished. 

"Shove  it  on  again.    Well,  how  does  it  feel?" 

The  friction  was  actually  much  lessened. 

"  It  will  be  the  salvation  of  me,  old  chap!" 


198  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  made  a  good-natured  grimace.  I  looked  at  his 
thick  red  nose,  his  sandy  moustache  with  its  piteous 
droop  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  his  oily  hair  tangled 
under  the  cap  which  was  perched  on  the  back  of  his 
head.  There  was  a  touch  of  the  grotesque  in  his 
ugliness  at  this  moment.  A  blundering  simple  soul 
too,  and  overtalkative.  And  yet  .  .  .  what  a  good 
sort  he  was!  He  had  that  rarest  of  virtues,  Kind- 
ness, the  mark  of  real  distinction  of  soul.  What  spon- 
taneous gratitude  he  aroused  in  me.  To  think  that 
quite  lately  I  had  hardly  dared  to  defend  him  against 
Laquarriere's  sarcasms.  That  would  all  be  changed 
now.  To-day  my  choice  was  made,  and  well  made. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  lull  in  the  fighting.  The 
cannonade  was  less  violent.  I  wished  for  a  moment 
that  the  struggle  might  end  without  us.  ...  Yes, 
but  only  on  condition  that  the  result  was  favourable. 
I  was  not  without  apprehensions  on  that  score, 
for  what  a  repulse  that  action,  described  to  us  the  day 
before,  must  have  been! 

Guillaumin  was  hungry,  and  did  not  worry  his  head 
about  anything  else.  Now  or  never  was  the  time  to 
stoke  up.  Before  joining  in  the  dance! 

I  took  his  advice.  Before  starting  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  we  had  been  given  a  cold  meal,  potatoes, 
bully  beef,  and  cheese.  We  had  some  bread  left. 
Having  clubbed  our  provisions  we  ate  our  little  feast 
on  the  moss. 

"Like  Robinson  Crusoe,  what!" 

I  made  a  point  of  getting  my  companion  to  take 
the  largest  helps. 

When  the  last  mouthful  was  swallowed,  he  lay  down 
and  shut  his  eyes. 


Awaiting  Our  Cue  199 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  little  snooze?" 

I  tried  to  imitate  him,  but  could  not  get  to  sleep. 
A  road  ran  through  the  wood,  about  a  hundred  yards 
away.  Endless  vehicles  passed  along  it  in  an  incessant 
string.  My  foot  was  not  hurting  me  now.  Why 
shouldn't  I  push  on  as  far  as  that  ? 

As  I  skirted  our  piles  of  arms  I  noticed  an  open 
haversack  sprawling  on  its  back  apart  from  the 
others.  Some  undergarments  were  hanging  out,  and  a 
squad  book,  and  one  or  two  other  oddments  were 
lying  in  the  grass  a  little  farther  on. 

I  turned  the  offending  object  over  with  my  foot  and 
spelt  the  inscription  traced  on  the  square  of  grey  can- 
vas. Then  I  shouted : 

"Judsi!" 

He  was  seated  with  several  others  about  twenty 
yards  off. 

"Judsi!"  I  repeated. 

His  neighbour,  Lamalou,  nudged  him. 

"Don't  you  hear  the  sergeant  talking  to  you?" 

"Wot's  wrong?"  he  said  without  moving. 

"  Does  this  haversack  belong  to  you? " 

"  Wot  'aversack  ?     Yes,  it  might. " 

"What  the  deuce  is  it  doing  here?" 

"Anything  wrong  with  it?" 

Judsi  impertinently  fixed  his  sly  clown's  eyes  on  me. 

"You  know  the  captain  will  not  have  untidiness  or 
disorder.  Why  is  your  haversack  open?" 

The  blackguard  pretended  to  consider  the  matter. 

"Probably  .  .  .  'cos  it  ain't  shut!" 

This  reply  overjoyed  his  audience.  Loriot  slapped 
his  thigh.  Lamalou  nearly  died  with  laughing.  As 
for  me,  my  cheeks  burned.  I  went  down  on  one  knee, 
and  pulled  the  iron  rations  out  of  the  haversack  with  a 


200  Ordeal  by  Fire 

jerk.     Then  I  counted  the  biscuits.     Ten  instead  of 
fourteen !     Four  were  missing. 

I  went  straight  up  to  the  man. 

"Judsi,  what  have  you  done  with  your  biscuits?" 
.  "My  biscuits?" 

He  tossed  his  head  with  a  monkey-like  grimace. 

"No  'posse'  either,  p'r'aps!" 

"Answer  me.     Four  are  missing  already!" 

"Ow  dear,  now,  wot  a  business!" 

There  was  dead  silence  round  us.  They  knew  that 
matters  were  coming  to  a  head. 

"You  know  that  we  are  strictly  forbidden  to  touch 
the  biscuits  without  orders  ..."  I  reminded  him 
dryly. 

"  Go's  orders?     The  ministers' ? " 

Judsi  looked  round  in  search  of  applause.  He  did 
not  get  it.  Loriot  alone  sniggered  in  a  foolish  sort  of 
way.  Lamalou  cut  him  short. 

"It's  true  enough  that  we  have  no  right." 

I  emphasised  his  words. 

"Lamalou  knows  well  enough:  he's  seen  some 
fighting  and  knows  what  it  is!" 

I    The    ex-private    in    the    African    battalion    again 
agreed.     I  continued: 

"You  understand  that  I,  personally,  don't  care  a 
hang.  But  a  time  might  come  when  we  were  in  a  jolly 
tight  hole  and  should  be  thankful  to  have  our  biscuits. 
And  then  it's  not  for  us  to  argue  about  it.  If  it's 
forbidden,  it's  forbidden,  and  Sergeant  Guillaumin 
and  I  are  responsible.  ..." 

The  argument  carried  weight.     Somebody  said: 

"Not  worth  getting  slanged  about!" 

Bouillon  outdid  him. 

"Strikes  me  it  ain't  the  sergeants  wot  worries  you." 


Awaiting  Our  Cue  201 

"You're  right  there!" 

They  were  agreed  on  that  point. 

"Well,  Judsi?"  I  began  again  less  severely. 

He  tried  to  get  out  of  it. 

"W'en  a  bloke's  starvin'!" 

"Starving!    You've  had  your  haversack  rations." 

Bouillon  gave  him  away. 

"  'E  didn't  take  'em.  Couldn't  bower  wif  carryin* 
'em!" 

Judsi  dropped  some  of  his  swagger.  He  got  tip 
sulkily,  and  slowly  pulled  one,  two,  three  biscuits  out 
of  his  greatcoat  pocket  .  .  . 

"And  the  fourth?" 

"Oh!  .  .  .  eaten!" 

"Well  anyhow,  put  those  back." 

He  obeyed  with  very  sour  looks;  then  raising  his 
clown's  face,  he  said: 

"'Ave  to  put  up  with  a  empty  stummick  all  day 
then?" 

"I  don't  want  to  get  you  into  trouble,"  I  said;  "I 
shall  not  report  you.  But  let  this  be  understood  in 
future.  .  .  .  The  biscuits  are  sacred,  see !  Now  ..." 

I  looked  round  the  circle. 

"If  your  pals  like  to  give  up  a  little  of  their  ration, 
that's  their  affair.  Another  time  they'll  find  some  way 
of  making  you  carry  your  own.  ..." 

This  Solomon's  judgment  perplexed  the  audience. 
Bouillon  saved  the  situation  by  sticking  a  knife  into 
a  potato : 

"  'Ere  you  are,  Judsi.  'Ere's  a  pertater.  It's  one  o* 
yours  by  rights.  I  picked  'em  up!" 

Gaude"reaux  split  a  piece  of  cheese.  "Rooty?" 
Lamalou  supplied  some. 

"Take  that  you  old  blighter.     But  another  time 


202  Ordeal  by.  Fire 

you  better  mind  or  I'll  catch  you  such  a  biff  in  the 
bottom  .  .  .  just  like  the  sergeant  said. " 

I  went  away  in  a  state  of  naive  contentment,  think- 
ing that  I  had  not  done  badly.  For  the  first  time  I 
had  a  glimmering  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  Author- 
ity. To  know  how  to  command  men! 

I  saw  Lieutenant  Henriot  coming  towards  me  from 
the  edge  of  the  wood  in  a  state  of  wild  excitement. 
He  had  his  field-glasses  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!"  he  cried.  "What  on  earth 
are  we  waiting  for?  I  ask  you!" 

I  suggested. 

"Well,  but  .  .  .  They  seem  to  be  holding  us  in 
reserve." 

"That's  all  very  well  for  an  hour!  But  ever  since 
this  morning!  What  the  devil  is  the  use  of  us  ?  Doesn't 
everything  point  to  the  fact  that  we  ought  to  go  to  the 
rescue  instead  of  crossing  our  arms  ?  No  orders  .  .  . 
No  orders  ?  And  suppose  the  bearer  of  them  has  been 
killed  or  taken  prisoner!  There's  only  one  rule  that 
counts:  the  same  that  won  all  their  victories  for  the 
Prussians  in  1870.  That  is  to  keep  on  till  you  get  to 
the  guns.  They're  near  enough,  in  all  conscience. 
Never  heard  such  a  din. " 

He  continued: 

"And  the  moment  was  so  well  chosen!  Look  at  all 
those  chaps,  how  they  are  aching  to  get 'to  work!" 

I  looked  at  him  instead.  Was  he  dreaming?  The 
men  were  lying  about  in  a  circle  after  their  meal. 
They  certainly  seemed  resigned  to  their  lot,  but  as  for 
enthusiasm — not  a  sign  of  it.  Nor  even  of  that  al- 
together physical  excitement  of  which  people  speak. 
Henriot  obviously  attributed  his  own  keenness  to 
them. 


Awaiting  Our  Cue  203 

He  was  most  certainly  in  a  state  of  exaltation.  Was 
he  to  be  envied  ?  Probably.  But  my  familiar  spirit 
of  analysis  did  not  desert  me.  It  was  useless  to  pre- 
tend that  the  approach  of  a  battle  absolutely  changes 
men's  characters,  that  no  one  can  say  beforehand 
what  he  will  do  under  certain  circumstances.  Non- 
sense. I  was  quite  convinced  that  I  should  never  be 
roused  to  acts  of  heroism  and  folly.  All  the  better 
for  that  matter.  The  primordial  quality  of  self- 
possession  was  the  greatest  safeguard  for  myself  and 
for  others.  Poor  Henriot.  What  childishness  it  was 
to  be  so  set  upon  hurling  himself  into  the  fray.  What 
difference  would  our  presence  make?  Weren't  we 
far  better  off  resting  in  the  shade  screened  from  the 
glare  of  the  midday  sun?  .  .  . 

Descroix  came  and  started  Henriot  off  again. 
Fremont  called  me: 

"Halloa!  I  was  looking  for  you!  If  you  want  to 
send  your  letters,  Dagomert  is  there  on  the  road." 

He  was  the  brigade  motor-cyclist. 

"  I'll  go  with  you, "  I  said. 

Dagomert,  a  tall,  pale  fellow,  with  a  comical  ex- 
pression, good-humouredly  undertook  our  commis- 
sion. 

"Hand  'em  over.  I've  got  piles  more  already.  I 
hope  to  have  the  luck  to  come  across  a  post-office. 
They  keep  me  on  the  run  all  right.  I've  just  come 
from  Censenvoye.  It's  a  business  getting  along  the 
road  with  all  these  troops,  too!" 

I  asked  him  if  he  knew  anything  about  the  battle. 
How  were  things  going  ? 

He  exclaimed: 

"We've  just  given  them  a  fine  doing?" 

"Seriously?" 


204  Ordeal  by  Fire 

A  thrill  ran  through  me.  But  I  mistrusted  these 
tales. 

"We  saw  some  wounded  belonging  to  the  i3Oth 
yesterday.  .  .  .  They  didn't  think  it  much  fun!" 
I  objected. 

"I  can  understand  that!  Their  regiment  was 
wiped  out!" 

"Well,  then?" 

" That  was  just  at  the  beginning!  It  was  up  to  the 
Bosches  to  advance.  We  let  them  cross  the  river. 
.  .  .  Heavens!  How  they  swarmed!  Then  all  at 
once  the  75*5  began  to  talk!  .  .  .  Their  bridges  were 
smashed  up  at  once.  And  the  arms  and  legs  and  heads 
that  were  flying  about!  ...  It  appears  to  have 
been  highly  entertaining!" 

"And  now?" 

"We're  pursuing  them.  Bringing  up  reinforce- 
ments, and  masses  of  artillery!" 

He  added: 

"But  we've  been  badly  cut  up!" 

"Incurs?" 

"If  you  saw  the  ambulance,  just  over  there!" 

Fremont  interrupted: 

"Halloa!     That  our  lot  starting?" 

"Yes,  there  was  something  doing  down  there." 

"Au  revoir,  Dagomert,  old  chap!" 

We  hurried  along.  The  men  had  got  their  packs  on, 
and  were  assembling  without  any  more  signs  of 
emotion  than  when  starting  for  an  ordinary  route 
march.  The  lieutenant's  excitement  was  in  striking 
contrast  with  the  phlegmatic  appearance  of  the  rest. 
He  was  fussing  and  running  up  and  down. 

"  Entrenching  tools  .  .  .  Entrenching  tools  in  your 
belts!  Cartridges  where  you  can  get  at  them!" 


Awaiting  Our  Cue  205 

"  Don't  you  worry ! "  murmured  Lamalou  testing  the 
mechanism  of  his  rifle. 

Henriot  came  up  at  once. 

"  Made  up  their  minds  at  last.  Not  a  bit  too  early 
either." 

He  had  a  wild  look  in  his  eye.  It  pleased  me  to 
excite  him  still  more : 

"Things  are  not  going  badly  you  know!" 

"What!     What!     Have  you  heard  something?" 

I  repeated  the  information  the  motor-cyclist  had 
given  us.  He  hurriedly  consulted  his  map. 

"On  the  bank,  you  say?  We're  pursuing  them? 
Oh,  but  that  means  a  great  victory!" 

The  captain  blew  his  whistle.  We  formed  into  a 
semicircle. 

"My  friends  .  .  .  "  he  began. 

Armed  with  a  piece  of  straw,  Humel  was  tickling  his 
neighbour's  neck.  This  childishness  shocked  me. 

The  captain  said  only  a  few  words.  He  was  nothing 
of  an  orator.  I  was  afraid  for  a  moment  that  his 
speech  might  end  in  gibbering.  He  recovered  himself 
and  concluded.  And  the  men  seemed  moved  by  it. 
It  didn't  take  much  to  do  the  trick! 

The  company  formed  up  again,  by  platoons,  in 
columns  of  four.  I  considered  my  companions,  one 
by  one,  with  passionate  curiosity. 

Bouillon  was  licking  his  lips,  topping  that  last  bit 
of  cheese!  Judsi  had  got  hold  of  Simdon,  and  was 
ragging  him,  telling  him  that  big  louts  like  him  would 
be  the  first  to  be  knocked  out.  Simeon  was  genuinely 
amused  by  the  idea.  Lamalou  was  calmly  blacken- 
ing Icard's,  the  miller's,  sight.  They  might  all  have 
been  a  hundred  miles  away  from  the  battle-field  where 
more  than  one  of  them  would  fall ! 


206  Ordeal  by  Fire 

And  Guillaumin  ?     I  asked  him  how  he  felt. 

" Pretty  fit,  thanks.     I've  had  a  good  nap!" 

It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  him  that  I  might  be 
solicitous  about  his  morale. 

They  were  all  heroes  then.  My  goodness  no! 
Simply  happy-go-lucky!  There  was  a  slight  distinc- 
tion though,  and  whatever  it  was,  they  scored  by  a 
propitious  frame  of  mind.  I  was  afraid  that  I  might 
show  up  badly,  being  the  only  one  to  remain  clear- 
headed. What  could  be  done  about  it?  I  forced  a 
wry  smile. 

Then  I  saw  that  Corporal  Donnadieu  was  looking 
very  unhappy  and  depressed.  His  nostrils  looked 
pinched,  and  he  was  gazing  at  the  ground.  .  .  .  He 
was  obviously  not  keen  to  fight.  I  felt  sorry  for  him. 
He  was  no  doubt  thinking  of  his  wife,  of  his  two  child- 
ren, one  of  them  on  the  way.  .  .  . 

I  caught  sight  of  Frdmont,  standing  stock-still  in 
the  rear  of  the  first  platoon.  I  knew  what  he  was 
dreaming  of  too.  I  repented  at  the  thought  that  I 
might  have  impaired  his  courage  yesterday.  A 
persistent  shadow  seemed  to  have  clouded  his  face 
ever  since  ...  I  only  hoped  that  he  toojnight  get 
through. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   BAPTISM   OF  FIRE 

ONCE  having  left  the  wood,  we  reached  the  little 
hilltop  of  which  I  have  already  spoken. 

In  spite  of  having  been  told  that  the  modern  battle- 
field is  empty,  I  had  never  imagined  anything  so 
desertlike  as  this.  Not  a  man  to  be  seen  in  these 
fields  which  sloped  gently  downwards;  it  was  aban- 
doned territory. 

The  firing  still  continued  to  rage  around  us.  We 
could  even  distinguish  a  distant  crackling  now,  either 
rifle-firing  or  shrapnel,  a  sign  that  we  were  getting 
nearer. 

When  we  passed  by  a  Calvary,  I  saw  some  of  the 
men  sign  themselves,  Gaude'reaux  and  Trichet  among 
others.  They  would  never  have  done  it  during  man- 
oeuvres. Why  was  I  inclined  to  see  in  this  Calvary 
one  of  the  points  which  would  decide  the  fate  of  the 
struggle?  I  think  I  must  have  been  hypnotised  by 
the  remembrance  of  the  one  at  Isly.  I  recollected 
Zola's  superb  pages  in  La  Debacle.  Another  passage 
which  recurred  to  my  mind  was  the  description  of 
Waterloo  in  La  Chartreuse  for  which  I  had  had  a 
great  admiration  ever  since  my  schooldays.  I  was 
tempted  to  compare  myself  with  Fabrice.  How  far 
removed  I  was  from  his  freshness  of  spirit,  his  youthful 
enthusiasm. 

207 


208  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Guillaumin  suddenly  signed  to  me. 

4 'Just  look  at  that!" 

Down  below  us,  yonder,  there  rose  a  puff  of  smoke, 
then  another  nearer;  a  third;  all  in  a  line.  They 
might  have  been  little  bonfires  lit  by  an  invisible 
hand.  The  bursting  points  of  shells ! 

The  noise  of  the  short  sharp  reports  reached  us. 

' '  Look  out , ' '  Guillaumin  whispered  to  me.  ' '  They're 
lengthening  their  range!" 

We  had  stopped,  silent  and  nonplussed.  The  cap- 
tain galloped  along  the  line. 

"To  fifty  paces — extend." 

Henriot  bellowed,  repeating  the  order.  There  was 
no  panic.  I  think  no  one  had  fully  realised  yet  that 
those  slight  puffs  which  had  appeared  were  a  direct 
menace  to  us. 

We  had  taken  up  the  extended  order  and  went  on 
marching,  but  with  rather  broken  ranks. 

"Close  up!     Close  up!"  shouted  Henriot. 

He  was  running.  I  noticed  that  he  had  drawn  his 
sword.  It  was  very  funny.  Did  he  think  that  he 
was  about  to  charge  ?  He  tried  to  put  it  back  into  the 
sheath.  He  stumbled.  The  men  nudged  each  other 
with  their  elbows.  A  pint  of  good  blood! 

Our  "connecting  file"  rushed  up. 

"Blob  formation!" 

Henriot,  who  was  still  struggling  with  his  scabbard, 
hesitated.  Then  he  shouted : 

"Left  incline!  No.  Right  incline!  No.  As  you 
were!" 

"He's  all  at  sea!"  said  Guillaumin. 

Suddenly  .  .  .  What  was  happening?  Something 
whistled  past. 

"Lie  down!" 


The  Baptism  of  Fire  209 

I  threw  myself  down,  and  the  men  too,  without 
waiting  for  the  order.  One  did  it  instinctively. 

"Testudos!  Testudos!"  bellowed  Henriot,  in  an 
extraordinarily  shrill  voice. 

There  was  a  gigantic  explosion  close  at  hand;  the 
ground  shook.  We  were  lying  pele-mele,  wherever 
we'd  happened  to  fall,  in  groups  of  eight  or  ten,  and 
covering  much  too  much  ground. 

"Close!  Close!"  I  shouted.  "Glue  yourselves  on 
to  each  other." 

But  the  ground  was  shaken  again,  some  flints  were 
sent  flying  against  us.  No  one  stirred.  What  an 
instant  that  was.  I  hardly  dared  to  look  round.  As 
far  as  the  eye  could  see  our  men  were  scattered  over 
the  ground  in  little  driblets  in  the  same  way  in  which 
water  spilt  on  a  pavement  trickles  into  tiny  pools. 

I  had  predicted  that  I  would  be  clear-headed. 

Shells  poured  from  the  radiant  sky,  preceded  by 
their  awe-inspiring  blast.  We  realised  which  were 
meant  for  us,  and  would  fall  within  a  radius  of  two 
or  three  hundred  yards.  If  a  single  one  hit  the  mark 
nothing  would  be  left  of  us  but  a  bleeding  mass. 
O  God  of  Chance!  I  humbly  placed  myself  in  His 
hands.  Second  after  second  passed  in  the  expectation 
of  annihilation.  Then  I  recovered  a  certain  amount  of 
detachment  in  the  thought  that  I  had  lost  all  control 
over  my  fate.  My  thoughts  were  in  a  whirl.  Life 
was  a  fine  thing.  I  might  have  employed  the  time 
allotted  to  me  very  differently.  My  youth  con- 
tained nothing.  I  detested  Laquarriere.  I  had  made 
a  mess  of  my  share  of  existence!  And  mixed  with 
these  regrets  was  a  new  hope  hard  to  explain. 

How  many  minutes  had  passed.     There  was  a  lull. 
A  voice  was  raised;  it  was  Bouillon's. 
14 


2io  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Nobody  killed!" 

The  relief  of  it !  We  raised  ourselves  up  on  to  our 
knees.  Some  aeroplanes  were  cirding  above  us. 
Taubes,  of  course! 

"Up  you  get!" 

The  neighbouring  section  had  started  off  again.  We 
advanced  rapidly.  Our  connecting  file  came  towards 
us  at  the  double. 

"By  sections!" 

Henriot  repeated : 

"Dreher,  Guillaumin,  by  sections!" 

We  looked  at  each  other,  then  I  exclaimed: 

"Come  along,  the  2nd  with  me!" 

The  men  did  not  seem  to  understand. 

"Bouguet,  Donnadieu. " 

Guillaumin  had  gone  off  to  rally  his  thirty  poilus. 

Mine  at  last  made  up  their  minds  to  follow  me,  in 
some  disorder. 

What  formation  ought  we  to  adopt?  Two  deep? 
Columns  of  four?  Consult  Henriot?  I  hailed  him. 
Waste  of  energy.  He  went  off  making  incompre- 
hensible signals  to  Guillaumin.  We  must  make  the 
best  of  it. 

' '  Two  deep !     Two  deep ! ' ' 

The  booming  began  again  .  .  .  for  us,  this  lot ! 

"Kneel!" 

I  shook  Simdon  by  the  shoulder ! 

"  Close  !Testudos!" 

A  few  actually  remembered  what  to  do — Lamalou 
and  Bouillon.  They  stuck  their  heads  between  the 
legs  of  the  men  kneeling  in  front  of  them.  Their 
neighbours  imitated  them. 

I  had  been  the  last  to  get  down,  at  the  head  of 
my  small  column.  There  was  no  one  for  me  to 


The  Baptism  of  Fire  211 

shelter  behind,  so  I  ran  a  greater  risk  than  any  of  the 
others. 

"  Get  back  here,  Sergeant, "  said  Corporal  Bouguet, 
"we'll  make  room  for  you!" 

I  crawled  back,  and  slipped  in  between  him  and 
Trichet. 

"Thanks!" 

I  was  guilty  of  a  little  bit  of  bluff  and  stuck  my 
head  out.  There  was  a  regular  hurricane  going  on. 
All  round  us  there  were  great  spurts  of  smoke  and  dust, 
and  clods  of  earth  were  hurled  against  us.  But  the 
pack  seemed  a  great  protection,  and  I  felt  that  we 
were  not  very  vulnerable  really.  Some  shells  did  not 
burst,  and  I  made  a  remark  to  that  effect. 

I  had  to  watch  the  movements  of  the  neighbouring 
sections  in  order  to  conform  to  them. 

They  were  going  on  again. 

"Advance!" 

We  went  on. 

"Pretty  hot  stuff!"  said  Judsi.  "We  ought 
to  go  in  zigzags,  best  way  to  get  through, "  he  ad- 
vised. 

I  approved. 

Judsi's  right.     The  range  only  varies  in  depth. 

We  were  beginning  to  distinguish  the  sound  of  the 
different  shells  through  this  infernal  din.  The  big 
ones  were  always  impressive ;  we  frankly  snapped  our 
fingers  at  the  smaller  ones. 

"Is  that  all ? "  said  Bouguet  as  a  splinter  of  shrapnel 
bounced  off  his  pack. 

"Listen!"  Lamalou  exclaimed,  "there  are  the 
75's  letting  loose. " 

I  don't  know  what  we  expected.  A  miracle — the 
immediate  cessation  of  the  enemy's  fire.  We  were 


212  Ordeal  by  Fire 

disillusioned.  It  redoubled  in  intensity.  One  or 
two  shells  again  fell  near  by. 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Bouguet.     ' '  That  got  'em ! " 

"Who?" 

"The  lads  of  No.  i!  Fell  slap  in  the  middle  of 
'em." 

A  shiver  ran  down  my  back.  I  only  hoped  to  good- 
ness that  Fremont  was  all  right.  Looking  round  I  saw 
haggard  faces  turned  towards  us.  Corporal  Donna- 
dieuwas  deadly  white.  I  forced  a  smile  and  shouted: 

"Halloa  there!     How  are  you  getting  along?" 

"So,  so,"  said  Lamalou. 

I  nearly  tripped  over  a  black,  cylinder-shaped  mass. 

"  Look  out  there.     A  'dud ' ! " 

They  avoided  it  and  Bouillon  said : 

"Lucky  you  gave  tongue  like  that.  I  was  just 
going  to  tip  it  a  hefty  biff." 

How  long  did  that  march  under  artillery  fire  last? 
We  covered  a  good  bit  of  ground,  two  or  three  broad 
undulations.  We  halted,  and  reformed  and  advanced. 
From  time  to  time  we  came  across  an  enormous  hole, 
five  or  six  feet  across  and  three  feet  deep,  which  we  had 
to  go  round. 

"Pretty  useful,  their  'coal  boxes,'  to  make  such 
pits." 

Happily,  Judsi,  cried: 

"They're  digging  a  grave  for  the  Kaiser!" 

My  one  idea  was  to  keep  my  intervals. 

Bouillon  asked  me  whether  a  river  we  were  coming 
to  was  the  Meuse. 

I  made  him  repeat  it.  A  river?  Why  so  there 
was  .  .  .  The  Othain  perhaps?  For  everyone  was 
.talking  about  it.  .... 

"How  are  we  to  get  across.     Swim?" 


The  Baptism  of  Fire  213 

I  was  asking  myself  the  same  question.  The 
bursts  of  firing  grew  less  frequent.  We  advanced  in 
rushes,  for  longer  distances,  but  not  so  fast.  We  felt 
comparatively  safe.  Our  attention  was  beginning  to 
wander.  ,  .  . 

"Lie  down!    We're  in  for  it  now!" 

There  was  a  terrible  explosion  close  by,  on  our  left 

...     a  flash,  and  a  stinging  blast.     I  saw  Bouguet 

put  his  hand  up  to  his  cap ;  a  bit  of  the  peak  had  gone. 

Looking  up,  I  shouted: 

"Anything  the  matter?" 

"Yes!" 

The  squall  was  not  over.  Never  mind  that !  I  ran 
along.  A  man  was  writhing  on  the  ground. 

"It's  Blanchet,"  said  Judsi. 

"Where's  he  hit?" 

"In  the  bread-basket." 

The  poor  fellow  was  lying  doubled  up  on  his  side. 
He  was  holding  back  his  guts  with  his  two  hands 
stuck  through  a  hole  in  his  greatcoat.  At  a  movement 
he  made  to  push  his  gun  aside,  I  caught  sight  of  them. 
...  I  was  petrified  with  horror,  just  as  I  had  been 
one  evening  when  I  had  seen  a  child  pulled  from  under 
a  tram.  But  I  realised  that  everyone's  gaze  was 
fixed  on  me.  I  said : 

"Donnadieu,  he's  in  your  half -section,  isn't  he?" 

The  corporal  did  not  answer.  His  face  was  mottled, 
and  there  were  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead. 

"You  must  .  .  .  take  away  his  ammunition!"  I 
continued. 

He  hesitated,  then  bent  down  with  terrible  re- 
pugnance, and  touched  the  wounded  man's  cartridge- 
pouches.  He  had  some  difficulty  in  opening  them, 
because  his  hands  were  trembling. 


214  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Blanchet  was  giving  in,  his  eyes  were  growing  dim, 
and  yet  he  had  the  courage  to  move  a  little  to  enable 
us  to  undo  his  haversack,  which  was  also  emptied.  I 
repeated : 

' '  Come  along !     Come  along.     Hurry  up ! " 

Donnadieu  murmured : 

"I  say,  Sergeant,  surely  you  won't  leave  him  like 
that?" 

I  read  in  his  eyes  the  vague  hope  of  staying  behind, 
of  slinking  away.  .  .  . 

"Come  along!  We  must  catch  the  others  up!"  I 
said  impatiently. 

Then  less  harshly: 

"The  stretcher  party  will  come  and  pick  him  up; 
they  are  sure  not  to  be  far  off. " 

I  bent  down  over  the  wounded  man: 

"Do  you  hear,  old  chap?" 

He  gave  me  a  poignant  look,  without  uttering  a 
word.  I  stammered : 

"You'll  be  all  right,  you'll  find!    Au  revoirl" 

Then  raising  myself  I  added  more  firmly: 

"And  now  we  must  get  on!" 

The  men  followed  me,  but  there  were  some  very 
painful  moments  to  be  got  through. 

" The  father  of  a  family!"  signed  Sime'on  who  knew 
him. 

Our  column  was  lengthening.  I  waited  for  the 
stragglers. 

"Come  along!     Donnadieu,  Trichet!  .  .  ..". 

The  ground  sloped  down  towards  the  river.  We  were 
surprised  by  a  strange,  fetid  smell  in  the  air,-  which 
was  oddly  out  of  keeping  with  this  harmonious  country- 
side, gilded  by  the  summer.  We  tried  to  make  "out. 
what  it  was. 


The  Baptism  of  Fire  215 

"Corpses!" 

"And  not  French  ones  either!" 

It  was  a  fact  that  these  grey  forms  lying  in  the  grass 
were  Germans — a  regular  hecatomb.  Rows  upon 
rows  of  dead  bodies,  which,  in  some  places,  we  had  to 
step  over.  .  .  .  When  had  they  fallen  there?  A  day 
or  two  before  no  doubt.  The  men  drew  each  other's 
attention  to  some  ravens  wheeling  overhead  or  perched 
near  by,  croaking. 

Pouah ! 

I  thought  of  nothing  but  how  to  keep  my  nose 
covered.  The  men  were  less  horrified,  and  seemed  on 
the  contrary  interested,  some  of  them  almost  amused. 
They  were  brutes,  at  heart,  with  no  respect  for  any- 
thing! 

Lamalou  made  a  vile  remark,  revived  from  Sylla: 

"It's  Bosche.     It  smells  good!" 


CHAPTER  X 
A  MOMENT'S  RESPITE 

WE  reached  the  river  which  I  afterwards  discovered 
was  the  Loison.  There  was  no  difficulty  there.  Some 
foot-bridges  had  been  erected,  which  bent  beneath 
our  weight  till  they  touched  the  water. 

On  the  other  bank  we  were  greeted  by  some 
Engineers. 

"We've  been  working  the  water-wheel  for  you  foot- 
sloggers! Isn't  that  worth  a  drink?" 

We  replied : 

"In  Berlin!" 

The  torrent  of  shells  still  continued,  but  passed  over 
our  heads.  Our  field-guns  retorted,  but  only  feebly, 
as  we  were  well  aware. 

We  began  to  clamber  up  the  other  side  of  the 
valley.  More  corpses !  On  our  right  we  could  see  the 
smoking  ruins  of  a  village.  But  our  morale  had  much 
improved,  for  we  had  just  crossed  the  water-bed  where 
the  enemy's  efforts  had  spent  themselves  in  vain  for 
three  whole  days. 

Pffmm  .  .  .  !    Pffmm  .  .  .   !    We  looked  up. 

"Pills?" 

Bullets.     Yes !    An  unpleasant  sensation. 

In  the  fields  on  a  line  with  us,  we  caught  sight  of 
isolated  soldiers  (rotters — the  lost  lot),  lying  down 

216 


A  Moment's  Respite  217 

or  cowering  on  the  ground,  others  dragging  them- 
selves along  on  their  knees,  or  limping  along.  Where 
the  deuce  was  the  enemy?  Perhaps  at  the  edge  of 
that  wood  about  twelve  hundred  yards  away,  but 
invisible,  needless  to  say. 

i  A  bank  skirted  a  cross-road  running  along  the  side 
of  the  hill.  We  went  towards  it.  Cover!  Everyone 
felt  the  need  of  a  real  halt.  The  wish  was  fulfilled. 
We  formed  into  sections. 

Guillaumin  greeted  me  with : 

"Any  of  you  hit ?     I  was  very  much  afraid  so,  for  a 
minute!" 

"A  man  named  Blanchet,"  I  said;  "a  splinter  in 
the  stomach!" 

"  Poor  devil !    Two  kids,  I  believe ! " 

"And  what  about  your  lot?" 

"Nobody.     Not  like  the  first.     A  shell  made  an 
awful  mess  of  them." 

"Fremont?" 

"He  wasn't  touched,  luckily." 

Breton,  the  quartermaster-sergeant,  joined  us. 

"Halloa,  you  chaps,  going  strong?" 

We  answered  cordially: 

"Not  so  bad  for  a  start." 

"We've  done  jolly  well!"  he  said  with  naive  delight. 

The  captain  came  up  accompanied  by  two  sub- 
alterns.    Some  of  the  men  began  to  get  up. 

"Stay  as  you   are.     It's   not  worth   getting  you 
fired  at!" 

"And     what     about     you,     sir!"     Lamalou    re- 
marked. 

"Oh,  I'm  taboo!" 

The  other  gazed  at  him.     The  captain  repeated: 

"They  can't  do  me  any  harm  today!" 


2i8  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  smiled,  his  moustache  bristling  slyly.  Then, 
turning  to  one  of  his  companions : 

"Pleased  with  your  N.  C.  O.'s,  Henriot?" 

"Very  much  pleased,  sir!  Dreher  and  Guillaumin 
especially  have  done  remarkably  well !  ..." 

"I  was  sure  of  it." 

They  went  off.     Guillaumin  whispered: 

"All  over  us,  isn't  he?" 

He  was  joking,  but  I  felt  that  he  was  touched  and 
proud,  dear  chap  that  he  was. 

This  rest  did  us  both  harm  and  good.  Good,  be- 
cause we  recovered  from  our  exhaustion.  We  had  a 
drink  and  a  bite.  Harm,  because  we  softened  and 
no  one  wanted  to  go  on  again. 

An  intermittent  firing  went  on.  Pffmm  .  .  .!  A 
bullet!  .  .  .  another!  ...  and  another!  .  .  .  Judsi 
pretended  to  catch  them. 

We  heard  that  a  man  had  just  been  killed  in  Ravel- 
li's  platoon,  a  bullet  through  his  head.  Confound  it ! 
We  bent  down.  It  was  oppressively  hot. 

Then  the  artillery  started  off  again.  The  order  was 
passed  along  to  lie  down  and  protect  our  heads  with 
our  packs.  The  cartridge-pouches  caused  us  agony. 
We  stayed  like  that  for  nearly  three-quarters  of  an 
hour.  The  men  grew  restless,  and  would  rather  have 
done  a  bolt,  even  forwards.  I  was  the  only  one,  I 
believe,  to  prefer  the  fatigue  and  less  risk. 

Henriot  came  to  warn  us  to  be  ready. 

We  were.  Some  of  the  men  readjusted  their  belts 
and  straps. 

A  company  on  our  right,  the  23rd,  was  starting. 
Bouguet,  who  was  watching  it,  exclaimed: 

"Lawks.     They're  going  down  like  ninepins!" 


A  Moment's  Respite  219 

Guillaumin  gave  me  a  short  lecture.  All  the 
theories  they  had  taught  us  at  the  "Peloton"  were 
out  of  date,  all  the  supposed  lessons  of  the  Russo- 
Japanese  war!  The  movements  now  must  be  carried 
out  in  established  formations,  sections  for  preference. 
The  advantage  of  it  was  that  the  men  felt  they  had 
support.  Yes,  but  what  a  target  they  offered  for  the 
machine-guns  in  ambush. 

Whom  should  I  see  appearing  at  my  side  but  De 
Valpic,  who  crawled  up. 

"I  wanted  to  come  and  wish  you  good  luck,  "  he 
said  simply. 

"Very  nice  of  you!" 

Lifting  up  my  water-bottle,  I  said : 

"Have  a  drink?" 

"No  thanks,  Fremont  gave  me  some  water." 

I  was  surprised.  I  had  thought  that  that  was 
the  errand  he  had  come  on.  But  I  was  mistaken. 
He  went  away  again.  It  was  a  purely  friendly  pro- 
ceeding. 

The  order  to  start  was  delayed.  Even  I  began 
to  get  impatient.  Guillaumin,  who  had  gone  off, 
reappeared  and  confided  in  me 'that  there  had  been 
great  excitement. 

The  captain  had  just  discovered  Descroix  tearing 
off  his  stripes. 

"What  an  idea!" 

"On  the  pretext  that  N.  C.  O.'s  are  marked 
particularly." 

"Well?" 

It  turned  out  badly.  The  captain  called  him  .  .  . 
a  coward.  He  defended  himself  and  contended  that 
there  was  no  need  for  him  to  get  himself  killed  for 
nothing ! 


220  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"No  one  is  ever  killed  for  nothing!"  the  other  an- 
swered. "And  as  to  your  stripes,  if  you  daren't 
wear  them,  I'll  relieve  you  of  them!" 

"The  captain's  a  fool!"  I  said. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Certainly!  It's  probably  true  that  the  Bosches 
mark  the  N.  C.  O.'s." 

Goodness  knows  I  held  no  brief  for  Descroix,  but 
Guillaumin  disgusted  me  then  with  his  little  heroic 
sniffs.  . 

I  had  decided  to  use  my  pack  as  a  shield.  I  told 
him. 

"Pooh!     Do  you  think  that's  any  good?" 

I  implored  him  to  follow  my  example.  It  was 
sufficient  protection  against  grape-shot.  He  ended 
by  allowing  himself  to  be  convinced,  and  gave  the 
same  advice  to  the  men  who  for  the  most  part  did 
not  follow  it. 

Henriot,  on  his  knees,  was  watching  for  the  signal 
and  giving  us  endless  pieces  of  advice  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"You'll  all  start  at  once.  Keep  your  eyes  fixed 
on  me,  see?  At  the  double.  Is  that  clear?  And  as 
for  firing,  be  careful  about  that.  Be  sure  to  wait 
for  the  order  to  fire!" 

"Talk  away,"  muttered  Lamalou;  "think  we're 
going  to  wait  for  your  bally  permission  when  we  get 
a  sight  of  the  Bosches?" 

The  whistle  was  blown. 

"Advance!"  shouted  the  subaltern. 


CHAPTER  XI 
A    MUCH   STIFFER  MATTER 

WE  had  hardly  taken  fifteen  steps  when  the  whistle 
began  in  our  ears  again!  We  threw  ourselves  down. 
But  not  quickly  enough!  Our  left  hesitated  .  .  . 
and  got  mixed. 

"Scatter!     Can't  you?     You  ..."     I  shouted. 

A  man  spun  round  and  fell. 

Henriot  bellowed: 

"Can't  you  lie  down?" 

But  his  voice  hardly  reached  us. 

"Why  doesn't  he  lie  down  himself?"  said  Judsi. 
"Wot's  the  sense  in  it?" 

He  added: 

"Pore  Simeon.  See  wot  a  bloomin'  pirouette  'e 
made.  Didn't  I  say  'e  was  too  tall!" 

The  firing  slackened  off,  but  we  naturally  saw 
nothing.  A  new  rush — too  long  that  one !  Pffmm.  .  . 
Crack !  We  were  enveloped  in  a  noise  like  the  snap- 
ping of  straps.  A  man  fell  not  far  from  me,  and  the 
fellow  next  him  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  stop. 

"  No,  no !    There  isn't  time, "  I  shouted. 

"  Run !    Run ! ' '  shouted  Henriot. 

It  was  easily  said! 

We  had  just  gone  into  a  ploughed  field,  and  the  earth 
stuck  to  our  shoes. 

221 


222  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Will  you  run?"  repeated  the  subaltern  in  a 
feverish  tone. 

I  began  to  trot  ponderously,  steadying  my  water- 
bottle  and  my  haversack.  Two  or  three  of  the  men 
did  the  same,  but  at  the  end  of  twenty  yards  we  gave 
it  up,  out  of  breath.  .  .  . 

I  turned  round  and  saw  one  of  my  chaps  fall.  I 
ran  up. 

"Well,  Loriot,  what's  up  now?" 

"Oh,  the  blighters ! "  he  groaned.  " Oh,  the  bloody 
bastards!" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

His  hands  were  glued  to  his  front.     He  shrieked. 

"Ow!  my  rupture!" 

It  was  put  on.     I  was  not  going  to  be  caught ! 

"Get  up!" 

"Not  much!" 

I  shook  him. 

"Up  you  get,  Loriot!" 

While  he  was  going  into  contortions  the  others  were 
gaining  ground.  Infuriated  I  yelled  in  his  ear : 

"You  could  be  shot  for  this!" 

But  I  suddenly  felt  doubtful.  Was  he  really  sham- 
ming? Tears  were  oozing  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  It's  because  I  ran, "  he  groaned. 

The  rest  was  lost.  .  .  .  He  abruptly  unbuckled  his 
belt,  and  his  braces.  I  bent  down;  there  was  a  lump 
as  big  as  my  fist.  .  .  .  He  hiccoughed,  and  vomited. 

Stupefied  and  sickened,  I  stammered: 

"Yes,  yes.  .  .  .  Then  .  .  .  St-tay  where  you 
are!" 

All  I  had  to  do  was  to  catch  up  with  the  r,est.  But 
now  a  new  storm  of  bullets  began  to  whizz  by — thicker 


A  Much  Stiffer  Matter  223 

than  ever — buzzing  like  a  swarm  of  bees.  .  .  .  And, 
Pap !  Pap !  Parapap !  Pap !  .  .  .  There  surely  must 
have  been  a  mitrailleuse  in  action. 

I  was  alone.  I  no  longer  had  the  support  of  friendly 
presences.  I  did  not  take  more  than  thirty  yards. 
Good  God!  I  suddenly  collapsed.  I  hurled  myself 
on  to  the  ground. 

My  temples  were  throbbing.  I  could  not  get  my 
breath.  What  did  my  life  hang  on?  A  thread! 
Pfffff!  Pffmm.  ...  If  one  of  these  sinister  flies 
touched  me  .  .  .  there  would  be  nothing  left.  The 
horror  of  such  near  annihilation  .  .  .  suffocated  me. 
Nothing!  .  .  .  The  black  chasm  ...  I  did  not 
want  to  ... 

With  my  mouth  open  I  convulsively  breathed  the 
air.  I  soaked  myself  in  the  supreme  sweetness  of 
things  .  .  .  the  dazzling  sun,  the  transparent  sky, 
the  green  fields  spread  in  my  sight,  and  the  blue  cur- 
tain of  the  woods,  encircling  the  clear  horizon  .  .  .! 

Pffmm !  Less  than  two  yards  from  my  face  a  little 
dust  arose,  a  clod  had  been  hit  by  a  bullet.  I  buried 
my  head  in  the  furrow.  I  dreamt  of  digging  a  hole, 
and  burying  myself  in  it,  alive! 

My  section  was  almost  disappearing  yonder,  nearly 
two  hundred  yards  away.  ...  I  suddenly  regained 
consciousness.  What  was  I  doing?  I  was  a  coward 
then? 

A  coward  ?  The  word  hurt  me !  Stay  here  behind. 
Oh,  if  only  I  had  a  wound!  How  I  longed  for  one, 
no  matter  how  bad  a  one  as  long  as  it  was  not 
mortal!  ...  Or  a  sprain.  I  twisted  my  ankle 
and — must  I  confess  it — pressed  on  it  with  all  my 
strength. 

There  was  nothing   to  be  done!     The  ligaments 


224  Ordeal  by  Fire 

held.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  soon  gave  it  up,  realising 
that  I  must  go  on.  It  had  got  to  be  done! 

I  was  just  about  to  overtake  my  section  when  there 
was  a  new  unexpected  noise  .  .  .  like  a  huge  piece  of 
calico  being  torn.  .  .  .  They  were  opening  fire  farther 
down  the  line.  But  upon  what?  Nobody  knew,  but 
it  was  the  signal  for  everyone  to  let  fly.  Instantly 
there  was  a  crackle  from  one  end  of  our  line  to  the 
other. 

When  I  came  up  some  of  the  men  turned  round 
to  look  at  me. 

"Here's  the  sergeant!" 

"Didn't  expect  to  see  you  again!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Thought  you  must  be  dead!" 

"Oh,  rot!" 

Did  I  redden.     Bouguet  whispered  to  me: 

"You  must  keep  your  eyes  open.  Some  of  'em  try 
to  do  a  bunk  on  the  Q.  T.!" 

I  did  not  feel  quite  sure  that  he  was  not  pulling  my 
leg.  Henriot  bellowed : 

"Yes,  yes.     Keep  it  up.     Fire  away!" 

No  detail  as  to  the  sight,  or  target,  or  the  length  of 
range.  A  man  was  missing !  Guillaumin  who  crawled 
past,  exclaimed : 

"You  ought  to  have  been  there,  you  see!" 

Henriot  now  corrected  himself: 

' '  Cease  firing !    Advance ! ' ' 

He  got  up  and  repeated  the  order.  Nobody  stirred. 
He  lay  down  again  and  looked  at  us  as  if  asking  for 
advice.  I  pretended  not  to  notice  it.  The  men  fever- 
ishly continued  to  bring  their  rifles  to  the  shoulder, 
fire  them,  and  reload. 

I  dropped  on  Moulard  who  was  lying  just  behind 


A  Much  Stiffcr  Matter  225 

Trichet  and  barely  escaped  hitting  him  at  every  shot 
he  fired.  Trichet  drew  back  looking  dazed,  without 
seeming  to  understand. 

The  worthy  Gaude'reaux  who  was  beside  him  was 
firing  precipitously. 

But  at  what?    At  what? 

In  his  agitation  he  got  his  lock  jammed.  I  took 
hold  of  his  rifle  which  burnt  my  hand.  It  took  me 
a  long  while  to  repair  the  damage  and  I  repeated : 

"Why,  in  thunder,  are  you  so  set  on  playing  with 
your  trigger?" 

Our  losses  were  still  slight.  Only  one  man  hit,  in 
Guillaumin's  section.  But  on  ahead  I  caught  sight 
of  a  barbed-wire  entanglement  surrounding  a  field. 
An  unpleasant  obstacle!  And  it  was  in  our  sector 
all  right! 

There  was  probably  a  ditch  too.     Henriot  shouted: 

"Here  goes  for  cover!" 

He  started  off  courageously,  and  this  time  the  men 
followed  him.  We  covered  the  intervening  space  in  a 
single  rush,  a  foolish  mistake  which  cost  us  two  men. 
Judsi  delighted  his  lads  by  imitating  a  horse's  gallop. 

The  bullets  shrieked  over  our  heads  as  we  crouched 
in  the  ditch.  We  let  off  a  few  desultory  shots  on  the 
chance  of  hitting  something.  A  minute  or  two  passed. 
The  subaltern  was  worrying  about  how  to  cross  this 
entanglement!  .  .  . 

"It's  quite  simple,"  said  Guillaumin.  "Who's 
got  the  wire-nippers  ? " 

"I  have,"  said  Corporal  Bouguet. 

Henriot  hesitated : 

"They'd  better  ..." 

"What?" 

"Be  made  use  of  ..." 

15 


226  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Very  good,  sir." 

Bouguet  calmly  got  up,  and  climbed  out  of  the  ditch. 
He  knelt  up  and  set  to  work. 

"Good  for  you,  Corporal!"  shouted  Bouillon. 

It  was  a  thrilling  moment.  The  bullets  whizzed 
and  whistled  all  round  him.  Pie  was  a  hero.  He  took 
his  time  about  it,  and  it  was  a  miracle  that  he  was  not 
hit  ten  times  over! 

"Will  that  do?  "he  asked. 

"Excellently!" 

He  passed  through  the  gap  he  had  made  and  went 
and  lay  down  in  the  field. 

How  tempted  I  was  to  admire  him,  but  I  restrained 
the  impulse.  He  simply  had  no  nerves,  that  was  all. 
As  for  me  my  temperament  forbade  such  achieve- 
ments. .  .  . 

"Our  turn  now,"  said  the  lieutenant.  "Follow 
me." 

He  made  a  dash  and  slipped  through.  He  was  not 
touched  either.  A  great  piece  of  luck.  But  then 
suddenly  he  lost  his  head  and  began  to  run  forward 
all  alone  through  the  hail  of  bullets,  without  looking 
round.  He  went  on  for  about  fifty  yards,  then 
stopped,  and  disappeared  into  the  hole  made  by  a  shell, 
in  all  probability.  Yes,  he  had  to  call  to  us  from  there. 
His  arm  waved.  We  realised  that  he  would  never 
dare  to  come  back  to  fetch  us ! 

"Well,  now  we're  in  command  of  the  platoon!'' 
Guillaumin  said  to  me.  ' '  Let's  each  take  charge  of  our 
men,  what?" 

He  added: 

"We  must  get  on!" 

"Who'll  go  first?"  I  asked. 

"I  will,  if  you  like." 


A  Much  Stiffer  Matter  227 

He  raised  his  voice  to  give  his  orders : 

"When  you  get  through,  advance  in  skirmishing 
order  by  the  right. ' ' 

He  sent  two  men  on  ahead,  and  then  joined  them. 
The  rest  crowded  through.  There  were  no  hitches 
until  it  got  to  the  last  men,  two  of  whom  fell,  one 
killed  outright,  the  other  wounded. 

"I  say,  get  them  to  fire  a  round!"  shouted  Guil- 
laumin. 

I  gave  the  order  for  a  volley.  It  was  distinctly  thin, 
and  besides  that,  his  men,  having  cleared  the  obstacle^ 
stupidly  inclined  to  the  left.  We  were  firing  straight 
into  their  backs.  I  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  my 
men  to  cease  firing. 

Bouillon  said  to  me: . 

"The  lucky  chaps!" 

"Why?"  * 

"To  have  gone  through  first!" 

They  had  left  two  dead  men  behind  them,  whose 
bodies  half  filled  up  the  gap. 

Our  turn  now. 

I  felt  strangely  detached.  I  watched  myself  get  up 
and  heard  myself  telling  off  the  three  men  nearest  to 
me: 

"Get  on,  you,  and  you,  and  you!" 

They  went,  much  against  their  will. 

"Get  a  move  on!" 

The  first  man  lost  his  balance  just  as  he  got  to  the 
entanglement,  and  fell  back  into  the  ditch.  The 
others  immediately  flung  themselves  back  again. 

I  turned  to  the  next  two: 

"You  show  them  the  way,  Trichet  and  Bouillon!" 

Bouillon  looked  at  me  imploringly,  and  neither  of 
them  budged  an  inch. 


228  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Pffmm !     Pffmm !  went  the  bullets  above  us ! 

"Aren't  you  ever  coming?"  shouted  Guillau- 
min. 

"No.  2  section  is  just  as  good  as  No.  I  section, 
surely!"  I  exclaimed. 

Somebody  muttered: 

"After  you!" 

I  implored  Bouillon  to  try  and  get  one  or  two 
through. 

He  sighed,  and  called  out: 

"Villain  .  .  .  and  Judsi,  old  chap,  aren't  you  going 
to  show  them  how?" 

"You  don't  mean  it?"  said  Judsi. 

He  came  rolling  along.  Villain  stood  up  with 
difficulty. 

"Aa-h!" 

His  head  burst  like  a  hand-grenade. 

Judsi  ducked,  giving  vent  to  Cambronne's  histori- 
cal exclamation.  Shaking  like  an  aspen  I  wiped  my 
sleeve  on  the  grass. 

At  that  instant  a  shot  rang  out  among  our  men. 
What  clumsiness!  Beside  myself,  I  shouted: 

"Donnadieu!" 

The  corporal  answered  from  his  half-section.  Was 
he  there?  Yes,  I  caught  sight  of  him  and  went  up  to 
him. 

"Donnadieu,"  I  said  excitedly,  "I'm  going  on  with 
some  of  the  men.  You'll  shove  the  others  along,  see? 
.  .  .  Kick  them  if  necessary. " 

He  looked  down,  and  muttered  something.  I 
caught  the  word  "  wounded." 

' '  What  wounded  ?     You  wounded  ? ' ' 

This  expression  of  misery  and  terror  on  his  face  .  .  . 
his  rifle  lying  on  the  ground.  -With  his  right  hand  he 


A  Much  Stiffer  Matter  229 

took  hold  of  the  other  fist,  and  raised  it  with  difficulty 
to  show  me.  .  .  . 

Blood  was  dripping  from  his  hand.  The  middle 
finger  was  in  a  horrid  mess  and  hung  down  limply,  by 
a  strand  of  skin;  a  fragment  of  bone  was  sticking 
out. 

"Poor  old  chap  ..."  I  began. 

But  I  suddenly  had  an  intuition.  The  man's  eyes 
avoided  me. 

"  It's  a  put-up  job,"  I  shouted  down  his  ear;  "you've 
done  it  yourself!" 

I  shook  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder.  The  wretched 
creature  tottered,  and  fell  on  his  side,  protecting  his 
mutilated  hand. 

"You  hound!" 

I  ground  my  teeth: 

"A  good  job  if  it  kills  you!" 

I  believe  that  in  my  rage  I  went  so  far  as  to  kick 
him.  .  .  .  One's  own  weak  moments  are  so  easily 
forgotten.  ...  I  was  choking  with  anger  and  dis- 
gust, and  the  agony  too  of  being  unequal  to  my 
task.  ...  I  was  responsible;  and  we  were  hanging 
back  behind  all  the  others,  making  a  gap  in  the  front 
of  attack. 

Our  comrades  who  had  gone  on  began  to  abuse  us. 

"Aloto'bloomin'funks!" 

"Going  to  stay  behind  are  you?" 

I  was  forced  to  act.  I  felt  my  mind  lashed  by  the 
burning  blast  of  decision. 

I  began  by  rebuckling  my  pack  behind  my 
shoulders.  Freedom  for  one's  arms  was  an  obvious 
necessity. 

I  stood  up  and  said  in  a  firm  tone : 

"We've  not  done  yet;  we've  got  to  get  through!" 


230  Ordeal  by  Fire 

My  cheeks  were  scorching.  Everyone  was  looking 
at  me.  I  think  I  gave  the  impression  of  the  most 
absolute  coolness. 

"Come  along!     Come  along!     Bouillon  .  .  .!" 

I  reached  the  gap  without  hurrying  myself.  Pflmm ! 
Pffmm !  That  terrible  buzzing.  ...  I  got  through 
and  shouted  imperiously: 

' '  Hurry  up !     Hurry  up  there ! ' ' 

I  was  standing  up.  I  had  set  them  in  motion. 
Bouillon,  Lamalou,  and  some  others  hurried  along, 
bending  down.  .  .  .  Someone  shouted: 

"Lie  down,  Sergeant,  lie  down!" 

I  lost  all  consciousness  of  what  was  passing.  I 
was  thinking  of  a  thousand  other  things — of  my 
brother.  ...  I  calmly  wondered  if  he  had  been  killed 
in  this  way.  However,  some  instinct  urged  me  to 
kneel  down,  and  then  the  realisation  of  the  danger 
we  were  in  seized  me.  ...  If  only  I  could  have 
thrown  myself  down  and  lain  still!  But  ten  of  my 
men  were  still  on  the  other  side.  I  felt  bound  to  wait 
until  the  last  one  had  come  through.  And  they  did 
not  hurry  themselves!  How  bitter  I  felt.  All  my 
senses  were  waking  up  again.  I  was  annoyed  with 
myself  for  exposing  myself  like  this,  but  I  could  not 
prevent  myself  from  doing  so. 

I  had  got  them  all  over  at  last !  Guillaumin  got  his 
poilus  together  for  a  new  rush. 

"Advance!" 

Nobody  dropped  out;  nobody,  that  is,  except  two 
poor  lads  who  were  killed  on  the  spot. 

"At  the  gallop!"  cried  Judsi,  who  was  once  more 
pretending  to  be  a  horse. 

I  signed  to  them,  to  keep  extended  order,  We  ran 
along  like  that  for  about  one  hundred  yards,  almost 


A  Much  Stiffer  Matter  231 

without  casualties,  and  then  crowded  all  together 
behind  a  narrow  tank. 

There  was  heavy  firing  for  a  few  minutes ;  a  relaxa- 
tion for  the  nerves!  Two  hundred  and  fifty  yards! 
At  the  edge  of  the  wood!  Fire!  I  had  given  my 
orders  quite  at  random. 

Bouillon  assured  me  emphatically  that  he  could 
make  out  the  peaked  helmets.  I,  too,  was  firing  madly, 
as  an  excuse  for  giving  no  more  directions. 

I  suddenly  saw  Henriot  beside  me;  he  shouted: 

"Cease  firing!" 

And  leaning  towards  me,  said : 

"Steady  on;  you  must  husband  your  ammunition! 
And  the  show's  over  for  today!" 

Over?  It  was  only  then  that  I  noticed  that  the 
sun  had  just  disappeared,  that  the  night  was  falling. 
The  engrossing  struggle  had  robbed  us  of  all  idea  of 
time. 


CHAPTER  XII 
WE  COLLECT  OURSELVES 

"  No !     Call  yourselves  poilus!"  Bouillon  exclaimed. 

We  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  the  strained  faces 
smeared  with  sweat  and  powder,  the  torn  great-coats, 
the  knees  and  hands  covered  with  earth.  But  what 
a  feeling  of  buoyancy!  In  me  most  of  all!  I  dared 
not  predict  the  issue  of  the  battle.  Victory  or  defeat, 
that  seemed  of  very  slight  importance  to  me,  I  admit, 
compared  with  the  fact  that  I  was  still  alive. 

The  night  was  falling.  Behind  us  was  the  river, 
indicated  by  the  dark  waving  of  the  willow-trees 
and  in  the  distance  the  slopes  of  the  farther  bank  were 
all  enveloped  in  a  haze  of  wan  violet  tones. 

The  captain  was  on  his  rounds. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  of  it,  Dreher?"  he  asked 
me. 

"Most  interesting,  sir!" 

He  went  away,  after  giving  me  a  cordial  glance  from 
his  piercing  eyes. 

I  sounded  Henriot.  Was  there  any  hope  of  a 
distribution  of  .  .  .  ? 

"  None  at  all !     Ssh !     Don't  let's  talk  about  that ! " 

Certain  measures  were  taken  in  view  of  a  possible 
attack,  and  some  rough  trenches  made.  I  wondered 
that  volunteers  were  found  for  sentry-duty,  and  others 

232 


We  Collect  Ourselves  233 

for  a  fatigue  party,  led  by  Guillaumin,  in  search  of 
water. 

The  latter  for  that  matter  looked  after  everything. 
He  had  directed  the  trench-digging  and  had  made  out 
the  casualty  returns,  and  then,  being  quite  indefatiga- 
ble, he  left  us  to  go  and  get  news  of  the  other  platoons. 

Rolled  up  in  my  great-coat,  I  was  wishing  for  no- 
thing so  much  as  a  doze,  when  he  reappeared. 

"Well?" 

"I  say,  I've  just  heard  a  heart-breaking  bit  of 
news!" 

"What?     Who?" 

"Poor  little  Fr&nont!" 

I  raised  myself  on  my  elbow: 

"Oh.     Is  he  hit!" 

"Badly  hit,  apparently!" 

My  heart  contracted.  What  a  nightmare!  That 
child  who  had  been  with  me  on  the  highroad  yester- 
day, whom  I  had  led  on  .  .  .  !  I  saw  him  growing  pale 
at  the  sight  of  the  stretchers  .  .  .  was  it  a  presenti- 
ment .  .  .  ?  And  I  had  a  vision  of  him  on  the  bench 
in  the  garden  the  other  day,  folding  his  darling  in  his 
arms. 

Guillaumin's  thoughts  had  kept  pace  with  mine. 

"His  wife,"  he  said.  "How  sad  it  is!  And  you 
know  she  was  expecting  .  .  .  that  they  .  .  .  had 
hopes  ..." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

We  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Dull  misery  was 
brewing  in  me.  Then  Guillaumin  got  up;  he  wanted 
to  spend  his  night  beside  his  men. 

"And  I,"  I  said,  in  a  strangled  voice,  "you  have  no 
suspicions?" 

"You!    What  about  it?" 


234  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"My  brother  ..." 

"Well?" 

"Has  been  killed." 

"You're  mad !     How  in  the  world  could  you  know  ? " 

"  I  heard  it  this  morning. " 

He  stammered: 

"You.  .  .  .     Your  brother  .  .  .  the  subaltern?" 

"Yes." 

He  seized  my  hand. 

"Michel.  .  .  .  Why  .  .  .  didn't  you  tell  me  about 
it?" 

My  Christian  name !  I  had  quite  got  out  of  the 
habit  of  hearing  it.  I  was  touched,  and  pressed  his 
warm  hands.  Tears  rose  to  my  eyes.  I  experienced 
the  sad  and  yet  sweet  consolation  which  the  affection 
of  living  people  brings  in  the  presence  of  death.  He 
was  a  true  friend.  I  admired  the  delicacy  which  made 
him  hold  his  peace;  so  many  people  would  have 
thought  of  nothing  at  that  moment  except  of  lavish- 
ing a  flow  of  unmeaning  words  on  me.  He  silently 
shared  in  my  mourning. 
:  At  last  he  said  simply : 

"I  am  thinking  of  my  sister.  If  I  were  killed  .  .  . 
or  if  she  were  to  die !  ..." 

He  lingered  for  a  few  minutes,  sitting  beside  me  in 
the  grass.  There  was  a  hallowed  silence.  .  .  .  Friend- 
ship, the  purest  of  manly  sentiments,  revealed  itself  to 
me  in  force.  .  .  . 

I  was  the  one  to  suggest  he  should  go ;  he  needed  his 
sleep. 

We  pressed  hands  again. 

"Mind  you  sleep,  Michel." 

"Good-night,  Claude.  ..." 

He  went  away.     I  leaned  my  forehead  on  my  arm, 


We  Collect  Ourselves  235 

> 

and  tried  to  get  to  sleep,  but  my  face  was  burning. 
What  strange  tumultuous  thoughts  besieged  me. 

I  caught  myself  repeating:  "Victor,  my  poor 
Victor!"  But  this  time  something  was  rent  asunder. 
A  veil  fell.  The  artificial  atmosphere  in  which  all  my 
joys  and  sorrows  had  been  deadened  for  so  long  was 
dissipated. 

My  man's  heart  began  to  bleed.  I  became  con- 
scious of  my  grief.  Without  diminishing  it  I  could 
now  compare  it,  without  blasphemy,  with  that  other, 
into  which  the  death  of  my  mother  had  formerly 
plunged  me.  A  double  regret,  identical,  I  felt  in  its 
essential  point,  for  these  two  beings  were  of  my  blood, 
my  nearest  relations,  a  little  of  myself.  Part  of  my 
life  and  future  were  buried  with  them.  I  understood 
now  what  an  irrecoverable  part  my  brother  had 
played  in  my  life.  I  had  loved  him  when  a  child,  and 
my  childhood  would  never  be  renewed.  Our  gaze 
and  our  minds  had  awakened  to  the  same  things.  A 
thousand  memories  were  ours,  ours  alone.  0  Victor, 
I  remembered  the  grace  of  your  eighth,  your  tenth 
year.  Our  wild  games  in  the  big  house  at  Tours,  and  in 
the  summer  holidays  in  the  big  garden  at  Embermenil. 
I  admired  you  and  adored  you,  my  strong  elder 
brother,  who  never  abused  your  strength,  who  used  to 
consent  to  being  the  "horse,"  out  of  your  turn  very 
often,  so  that  I  might  hold  the  reins.  When  you 
brought  friends  home  you  did  not  like  me,  the  young- 
est of  the  band,  to  be  "ticked,"  and  when  I  was  "it" 
too  long,  you  let  yourself  be  caught  on  purpose. 

I  could  remember  my  brother  leaving  for  La  Fle'che 
as  clearly  as  if  it  had  been  yesterday.  I  was  incon- 
solable. I  was  seven  years  old,  and  in  my  unhappi- 
ness  I  refused  to  eat  any  pudding  for  a  whole  wcekl 


236  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  was  just  beginning  to  write.  With  a  great  effort 
I  managed  to  cover  a  page  for  him  every  week.  When 
he  came  back  at  Christmas,  looking  very  smart  in  his 
new  uniform,  how  delighted,  how  overjoyed  I  had 
been. 

And  then,  little  by  little,  we  had  drifted  apart. 

My  brother !  I  had  not  really  known  him !  I  never 
should  know  him.  Oh,  the  anguish  of  that  thought. 
The  fault  had  been  on  my  side,  for  he  in  his  affection 
had  made  many  advances.  The  hope  of  putting  an 
end  to  the  misunderstanding  between  us  never  left 
him.  Even  quite  lately  certain  words  of  his  showed 
his  fondness  for  me.  But  I  had  always  repulsed  him 
— he  was  shy,  in  spite  of  his  handsome  energetic 
appearance — by  my  arrogance  and  coldness. 

Why  had  I  decreed,  ever  since  I  was  sixteen,  that  it 
was  absurd  for  men  to  kiss,  and  at  our  next  meeting 
had  put  out  my  hand  to  stop  his  customary  greeting? 

How  many  times,  it  was  more  like  a  hundred  than 
one,  he  must  have  been  grieved  by  my  harshness  and 
indifference  before  having  resigned  himself  to  it.  And 
had  he  ever  resigned  himself  to  it? 

Was  it  necessary  that  he  should  fall,  to  bring  me  to 
repentance.  Alas!  If  only  he  could  have  seen  me 
now,  me  the  egoist,  pouring  out  bitter,  precious  tears 
for  him,  the  first  for  ten  years. 

I  seemed  to  have  been  born  anew  to  the  deeper  hu- 
man feelings.  Access  to  a  sublime  region  was  given 
back  to  me.  My  heart,  which  had  been  shrivelled 
and  hardened  for  so  long,  softened  and  expanded. 
In  a  transport  of  generosity  I  tried  to  think  who- there 
was  still  left  for  me  to  love  on  earth.  . ;  .  -  ;  -. ; 
•The  thought  of  my  sister-in-law  occurred  to  .-me 
first.  I  knew  that,  in  her  great  love  for -Vic-tor,  she 


We  Collect  Ourselves  237 

would  have  welcomed  me  as  a  brother  as  eagerly  as  she 
had  welcomed  a  father.  It  was  I  again  who  had  dis- 
couraged her  advances.  I  reproached  myself  for  it.  I 
foresaw  the  hope  of  atoning  for  it.  This  death 
would  create  certain  duties  for  me.  Madeleine  had 
lost  her  parents,  she  had  no  relations  except  a  married 
sister  at  Versailles.  When  once  my  father  had  gone. 
I  should  be  the  head  of  the  family,  the  children's 
natural  guardian. 

I  thought  of  the  little  things'  future.  I  would  look 
after  Xavier's  education,  and  guide  him  towards 
a  fine  career.  And  I  saw  the  little  girl  grow  up. 
We  would  let  her  marry  where  her  heart  led  her. 
:  I  thought  of  my  father  with  reverence  too.  Our 
sorrow  drew  us  nearer  to  each  other.  I  imagined  him 
being  abandoned  by  his  strength,  when  he  heard  the 
news.  My  courage  and  my  pity  would  support  him 
without  humiliating  him.  I  even  dreamt  that 
his  love,  robbed  of  its  object,  would  end  by  being 
concentrated  entirely  upon  me.  Was  it  only  a  fancy  ? 
I  remembered  his  clasp,  and  his  voice  which  changed 
when  we  bid  each  other  farewell. 

Thus  my  thoughts  strayed  to  each  of  my  dear  ones. 
I  paused  at  each  vision  to  enjoy  it.  But  it  seemed  to 
me  that  behind  them  all  another  was  hiding,  undecided 
whether  to  appear  or  not!  Suddenly  a  light  shone 
forth  ...  a  silhouette  rose  up,  of  a  child,  slim  and 
fair,  with  a  grave  sweet  smile,  and  tender  eyes.  It 
was  such  a  dazzling  apparition  that  I  thought  of 
adorning  it  and  setting  it  up  as  a  secret  goddess  in 
the  inmost  depths  of  my  being  to  preside  over  my 
regeneration. 

I  tried  to  sweep  aside  the  idol,  to  dispel  the  nimbus 
of  illusions.  .  .  .  What  did  an  exchange  of  post-cards, 


238  Ordeal  by  Fire 

as  a  continuation  of  our  talks  in  the  holidays,  signify? 

The  phantom  refused  to  fade  away;  it  reigned,  pure 
and  enthralling,  in  my  consciousness.  It  was  becom- 
ing an  obsession.  I  decided  to  get  up  and  take  a  turn. 

The  silent  night  enveloped  everything,  things  and 
people,  our  line  and  the  enemy's.  Most  of  the  men 
were  sleeping,  tired  out,  but  the  sentries,  standing  a 
few  yards  ahead,  peered  into  the  mysterious  darkness. 

In  No.  2  platoon  some  of  the  men  were  still  talking 
below  their  breath.  I  recognised  the  voices  of  Judsi 
and  Corporal  Bouguet. 

"There  ain't  nothing  wrong  with  the  lieutenant,  but 
'e  loses  'is  'ead!" 

"Tell  you  who's  a  bit  of  all  right,  and  that's  the 
sergeants!" 

"As  for  Dreher,  'e  knocked  me  silly,  that  'e  did. 
'E's  a  cove  wot  won't  stop  at  nothink,  'e  is. " 

I  did  not  listen  any  longer,  but  passed  by,  smiling. 
I  was  touched,  and  surprised  at  being  so.  And  I 
thought,  "Father,  father,  if  only  you  could  hear 
them!  .  ." 


BOOK  VI 
August  i4th-2$th 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  VICTORIOUS    DAWN 

THE  cold  woke  me  as  usual.  I  was  stiff  with  cramp 
from  my  left  shoulder  down  to  my  hip  ...  It  would 
be  a  miracle  if  we  did  not  all  get  our  deaths  of 
rheumatism. 

An  oppressive  silence  reigned.  I  put  my  hand  out 
to  feel  the  grass  damp  with  dew.  I  could  make  out 
the  shadow  of  my  comrades  a  few  yards  away. 

I  rubbed  myself  and  stretched  my  muscles.  I  was 
really  remarkably  fit  on  the  whole,  and  the  excruciating 
contraction  in  my  side  soon  disappeared.  I  looked 
out.  The  Huns  yonder  must  be  dreading  our  awaken- 
ing. I  tried  to  recall  the  magnanimous  feelings  with 
which  I  had  lulled  myself  to  sleep  a  few  hours  ago, 
but  I  was  too  drowsy.  Only  one  vision  consented 
to  charm  me,  the  face  of  a  young  girl. 

"At  the  wheel  already,  Dreher?" 

It  was  the  subaltern.  He  told  me  he  had  not  slept 
much. 

' '  There  might  have  been  a  counter-attack !  I  had  to 
keep  on  at  my  rounds!" 

239 


240  Ordeal  by  Fire 

When  he  was  just  on  the  point  of  going  away,  he 
said: 

"I  say,  Dreher,  I  hear,  that  is,  Guillaumin  told  me, 
your  brother  .  .  .  !" 

"Oh,  so  you  know  about  it.  It  has  been  a  great 
blow!" 

"We'll  revenge  him  all  right,"  he  assured  me. 

A  lot  of  good  that  would  do  me,  I  thought. 

There  was  nothing  to  show  where  the  east  was. 
An  indefinite  brightness  however  replaced  the  darkness 
by  insensible  degrees.  The  tops  of  the  willow-trees 
at  the  bottom  of  the  valley  were  emerging  from  a 
woolly  haze. 

All  our  lot  were  up  and  about,  now.  The  cooks 
found  a  way,  without  consulting  the  lieutenant,  of 
going  to  make  the  coffee  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the 
rear. 

Judsi,  who  brought  up  the  first  bucketful,  said  to 
me: 

"Give  us  your  mug,  Sergeant!" 

" I  go  in  with  the  '  loth,'"  I  objected,  but  he  assured 
me  that  it  would  give  them  so  much  pleasure,  we'd 
got  on  so  well  yesterday. 

I  let  him  give  me  some,  and  tasted  it. 

"Clinking,  your  coffee." 

"Here's  to  you!" 

Big  Henry  soon  came  up  on  behalf  of  the  other  half- 
section;  and  I  had  to  accept  a  second  cupful,  in  order 
to  prevent  any  jealousy.  What  enchanted  me  was 
that  I  had  won  the  esteem  of  these  fellows — at  small 
cost,  goodness  knows ! 

A  little  firing  had  been  heard  for  the  last  few 
minutes,  but  only  in  the  distance,  strange  to  say! 
%  Nothing  serious  so  far ! 


A  Victorious  Dawn  241 

The  quartermaster-sergeant  passed,  inquiring  what 
ammunition  we  had  left!  Nothing  very  great!  We 
had  played  havoc  with  it. 

"  No  more  need  of  bullets !"  Guillaumin  interrupted 
joyously.  "We're  going  to  do  some  storming  now ! " 

I  had  not  seen  him  since  last  night.  Unbrushed, 
unshaven,  his  dirty  face  shining.  Was  this,  I  thought, 
henceforward  to  be  my  friend,  my  best  friend?  I 
would  not  allow  myself  to  be  ill-natured. 

He  was  wanted  by  Henriot,  and  crawled  away.  It 
was  the  only  mode  of  progression  permitted.  I  was 
not  sorry  he  had  gone.  I  should  have  found  nothing 
to  say  to  him.  The  prospect  of  a  bayonet  charge 
obviously  inflamed  and  excited  him,  just  like  that 
savage  Lamalou  who  was  boasting  that  he  would 
skewer,  how  many? — one,  two,  three — who  would 
have  a  bet  on  it? 

As  for  me,  I  admit  that  I  dreaded  those  two  hund- 
red yards  across  that  no-man's-land  (the  last  rush  for 
how  many  of  us!),  and  what  followed,  still  more  the 
hand-to-hand  fight  with  the  bayonet,  the  horrible 
butchery,  the  atrocious  phase  of  the  fighting  for  which 
no  one  prepares,  for  no  one  would  face  it  in  cold  blood. 

We  had  to  wait  for  orders,  for  a  long  time,  crouching 
behind  the  earthworks  with  our  rifles  in  our  hands. 

It  had  got  quite  light. 

All  at  once,  exclamations  were  heard. 

We  looked  round. 

A  hussar  was  galloping  across  the  fields  behind  us. 

'"E's  arskin'  ter  be  napoo'd!"  Judsi  exclaimed. 

What  a  target  indeed !  How  could  the  enemy  help 
having  a  shot ! 

The  horseman  raced  along  the  line,  and  disappeared. 
Not  a  single  shot  had  been  fired  by  the  Bosches.  A 

16 


242  Ordeal  by  Fire 

few  minutes  of  trying  suspense  passed.  Then  a 
rumour  ran  along  the  line.  Some  of  the  men  showed 
signs  of  getting  up. 

"Lie  down!"  Henriot  commanded. 

But  we  saw  Breton  walking  quickly  towards  us,  with- 
out the  customary  precautions.  His  face  was  beaming ! 

When  still  thirty  yards  off,  he  shouted: 

"Nobody  ahead  of  us  now!" 

"What?" 

"They  sloped  off  in  the  night!" 

The  news  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth.  An  ingenuous, 
delirious  joy  took  hold  of  our  companions.  A  broad- 
side of  jokes  burst  forth. 

"The  'Allemans'  funked  us!" 

Judsi  chuckled. 

"W'en  the  blighters  saw  the  1.3  being  brought 
along  .  .  .  they  said  to  themselves :  '  Nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  'ook  it.'" 

I  breathed  again.  I  marvelled  at  the  fulfilment  of 
my  private  wish.  No  more  danger  for  the  moment. 
I  should  not  be  killed  this  morning ! 

The  hussar,  who  had  brought  the  news,  appeared 
again,  and  deliberately  urged  his  horse  towards  the 
woods,  the  zone  which  yesterday  had  been  inaccessible. 
There  was  a  new  outburst  of  delight,  and  the  men 
began  to  rag  the  sentries  who  had  been  on  duty  during 
the  night : 

"Gaudereaux,  w'y  couldn't  'ee  tell  us  they'd  done 
a  bink.  You  was  snoozin',  you  old  blighter,  I  dew 
believe. " 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  arms  had  been  piled,  and 
the  men  dismissed  to  rest,  Guillaumin  took  me  by  the 
arm: 


A  Victorious  Dawn  243 

"Let's  go  and  see  what's  become  of  the  others!" 

We  met  De  Valpic  on  the  way.  He  had  not  slept 
either,  and  was  afraid  he  had  caught  a  cold.  .  .  . 

"You'll  not  be  the  only  one,  my  dear  chap!" 

A  few  steps  farther  on  there  was  a  little  group, 
the  Humel-Playoust  lot.  We  went  up  to  them,  de- 
lighted to  find  them  safe  and  sound.  I  don't  know 
what  put  the  idea  into  my  head  of  tapping  Descroix 
on  the  shoulder  and  saying  to  him : 

"Good  biz.  The  N.  C.  O.'s  haven't  come  off  so 
badly,  what?" 

He  turned  round  in  a  fury. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

I  understood.  He  must  have  thought  I  was  allud- 
ing to  that  stupid  affair  of  the  stripes,  which  had  gone 
quite  out  of  my  head.  So  I  turned  to  Humel : 

"Was  it  you  who  saw  Fremont  fall?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  was  he  hit?" 

"Oh,  look  here!  One  has  all  one  can  do  to  look 
after  oneself!" 

The  quartermaster-sergeant  was  making  signs  to  us 
in  the  distance.  We  went  towards  him.  Guillaumin 
enlightened  me  on  the  way. 

"That  Descroix  business  was  a  put-up  job,  you 
know.  He  doesn't  like  it  talked  about." 

"All  the  worse  if  it  was  arranged  before- 
hand!" 

Breton,  who  had  joined  us,  took  us  to  a  clump  of 
trees.  When  we  got  there  he  said: 

"Look  here!" 

A  German  officer  was  standing  up  leaning  lightly 
against  a  shield.  His  field-glasses  were  up  to  his  eyes, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  gazing  through  the  opening. 


244  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Was  he  alive  or  dead  ?  We  hesitated  but  soon  found 
out  when  we  got  nearer. 

"Rather  neat,  what?"  said  Breton. 

While  ferreting  about  near  by,  Guillaumin  came 
across  a  shell-hole.  He  exclaimed: 

"The  work  of  the  75*5.  No  wound,  apparently. 
Simply  the  effect  of  the  concussion." 

Then  with  a  knowing  wink : 

"Pretty  hot  stuff  these  Turpin  machines,  what?" 

We  looked  for  a  few  seconds  at  the  big  well-built 
man  with  regular  features,  in  the  tightly  fitting  uni- 
form trimmed  with  frogs.  Some  of  the  men  who  had 
come  up  formed  a  circle  round  us.  Lamalou,  with- 
out any  hesitation,  put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
dead  body.  .  .  . 

I  shall  never  forget  the  horror  of  it!  The  legs 
remained  firmly  fixed,  but  the  upper  half  of  the  body 
fell  apart,  as  if  it  had  been  a  mannequin  made  in  two 
pieces. 

We  bolted,  but  the  poilus  called  to  each  other 
cheerily  to  come  and  have  a  look. 

The  halt  continued;  we  extended  the  range  of  our 
walk  as  far  as  the  quarter  occupied  by  the  other 
battalion.  We  came  across  friends  at  every  other  step, 
and  greetings  and  hand  clasps  were  more  cordial 
than  usual : 

"No  bad  news,  of  your  lot?" 

And  the  rep'y  was  awaited  with  the  curious  mixture 
of  curiosity  and  apprehension  with  which  the  list  of 
victims  is  perused  the  day  following  a  catastrophe. 

We  produced  a  painful  effect  each  time.  At  the 
name  of  Fremont  a  look  of  sincere  commiseration 
appeared  on  all  the  faces.  Everyone  loved  him  for 
his  charm,  and  his  good  nature,  this  boy  with  the  look 


A  Victorious  Dawn  245 

of  a  girl  and  the  memory  of  his  romance  secretly 
touched  all  their  hearts. 

The  losses  did  not  appear  to  be  very  serious ;  on  the 
whole,  our  company  was  among  those  to  have  suffered 
most. 

Someone  announced  that  Denais,  the  big  fellow  in 
the  1 9th,  had  been  killed  right  at  the  beginning  by  a 
splinter  of  shrapnel. 

"Denais!" 

I  was  thunderstruck.  We  had  been  bed-neighbours 
for  a  week,  once,  in  the  infirmary.  We  had  seen  a  lot 

of  him  at  F even  during  the  last  few  days.     I  could 

see  his  face  contracting  at  the  notes  of  the  "Funeral 
March."  I  heard  him  cry:  "Oh,  shut  up!  It's 
idiotic!  .  .  ."  And  now  he  had  "gone  west." 

What  struck  me  most  was  that  his  disappearance 
did  not  seem  to  affect  any  one.  Not  a  single  regret 
was  expressed.  At  the  "  Peloton"  he  had  always,  like 
myself,  been  one  of  those  who  knew  how  to  get  out  of 
things,  difficult — again  like  me — to  'catch  out," 
like  me  polite  and  sarcastic.  General  opinion  classed 
us  together  as  thorough  egoists. 

"And  how  about  your  foot?"  Guillaumin  asked  me. 
"How's  it  getting  on?" 

It  had  not  entered  my  head  again! 

"All  the  better!  Because  now  we  shall  have  to 
fight  chiefly  on  our  legs !" 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"We  shall  have  to  follow  them  up!" 
:    "Rot!" 
•  •  He  looked  at  me. 

"By  Jove,  you  don't  look  much  as  if  you  realised 
that  we  have  just  "gained  a  victory*" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  arid  he  continued: 


246  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"It  must  be  rather  a  knock  for  the  Bosches!  A 
repetition  of  Mulhouse.  ..." 

I  poured  cold  water  on  his  enthusiasm.  The 
enemy  had  retired  of  themselves  and  had  not  been 
forced  to  by  us;  a  manoeuvre  on  their  part,  perhaps. 
And  we  saw  only  such  a  small  part,  a  very  small  part. 

Guillaumin  grew  heated  and  hurled  himself  into 
nebulous  strategical  problems.  I  enjoyed  urging  him 
on.  At  last  he  almost  lost  his  temper. 

"We'll  go  and  ask  the  subaltern!" 

Henriot  was  coming  towards  us  just  having  left  an 
officers'  confabulation. 

"Well?" 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  raising  his  cap,  "our  success  is 
even  more  complete  than  we  had  hoped!" 

"Hm!" 

Guillaumin  smacked  me  on  the  back. 

Descroix  and  Humel,  and  all  that  lot,  joined  us 
again. 

"I've  got  some  details, "  Henriot  announced  breath- 
lessly. "Here  ..." 

His  recital  only  confirmed  the  version  I  had  had  from 
Dagomert.  After  a  partial  repulse,  after  allowing  the 
Germans  to  cross  the  Othain,  and  the  Loison,  possibly 
for  tactical  reasons,  we  had  suddenly  taken  the 
offensive.  The  enemy  had  retired  in  disorder.  One 
regiment  had  been  completely  wiped  out  by  fire.  .  .  . 
Henriot  quoted  the  regimental  number : 

"The  23rd  Wiirttembergers ! " 

We  had  taken  some  prisoners,  and  booty,  and 
captured  field-  and  machine-guns,  according  to  the 
reports. 

During  the  hullabaloo  which  followed,  I  asked : 

"So  things  are  going  alright?" 


A  Victorious  Dawn  247 

Humel  sneered. 

"Oh,  really,  nothing  pleases  that  chap!" 

I  continued: 

"It's  all  very  well,  but  who  knows  what's  happen- 
ing elsewhere?" 

"And  what's  happening  in  Timbuctoo?" 

"Round  about  Nancy?    And  in  the  North?" 

Guillaumin  laughed: 

"  Dreher  will  have  it  that  we  can't  be  equally  lucky 
everywhere!" 

Henriot  roared  with  laughter! 

"Oh  rot,  they're  in  the  soup!" 

The  group  dispersed.  Guillaumin  went  on  talking 
to  the  lieutenant.  I  stayed  with  them,  without  taking 
part  in  their  conversation.  I  was  depressed  again. 
Why?  Good  God,  what  did  I  want?  I  envied  the 
delirious  delight  betrayed  by  every  look  and  word 
and  deed  in  my  companions.  I  should  have  liked  to 
vibrate  in  communion  with  those  tens  of  thousands  of 
men,  my  brothers  by  race,  who  covered  the  surround- 
ing country ;  and  I  caught  a  glimpse  behind  them  of  the 
enormous  mass,  my  nation,  in  whom  the  news  of  our 
success  would  have  let  loose  such  a  frenzy  of  joy. 

What  did  I  lack  to  raise  me  to  the  desired  pitch  of 
excitement  ?  I  appealed  to  other  considerations  of  an 
equally  exalting  nature :  the  renewal  of  our  greatness, 
the  virtue  of  our  proud  blood.  We  were  overthrow- 
ing the  greatest  enemy  in  the  world,  at  the  first 
encounter.  Revenge  was  a  fine  thing  after  all  .  .  .  ! 
The  pride  of  fulfilling  this  hope  of  our  fathers.  It 
was  thus  that  I  succeeded  in  fanning  myself  into  a 
semblance  of  enthusiasm. 

My  companions  left  me,  eager  to  walk  and  talk,  to 
enjoy  to  the  full  this  triumph  which  each  of  them  felt 


248  Ordeal  by  Fire 

was  his  own  particular  property.  Left  alone  I  soon 
proved  that  the  entirely  artificial  fervour  to  which  I 
had  raised  myself  was  subsiding  by  degrees.  The 
springs  of  my  mind  were  stagnant. 

We  were  certain  to  start  again,  and  starting  again 
would  mean  pushing  forward,  following  them  up — 
Guillaumin  had  been  quite  right — re-entering  Lorraine, 
with  flags  flying  to  be  saluted  as  her  liberators. 
Heavens !  Surely  that  was  enough  to  make  a  soldier's 
heart  beat  high.  What  would  have  been  my  father's 
and  my  brother's  exaltation !  To  think  that  I  was  not 
a  whit  moved  by  it.  I  stripped  the  exploits  to  come  of 
their  prestige.  What  awaited  us  was  simply  new 
fatigues  and  torturing  privations. 

And  I  was  terrified  above  all  else,  far  above  all  else, 
by  the  spectre  of  the  future  battles.  Could  one  risk 
one's  life  twice  with  impunity!  I  had  escaped  the 
first  time  by  a  miracle.  Let  me  profit  by  it!  I  had 
been  wrested  from  repose  and  security.  Had  I  not 
already  drawn  from  this  campaign  more  than  the 
benefit  anticipated!  I  had  my  share  of  memories 
which  would  last  me  all  my  life.  I  had  ascertained 
that  I,  even  I,  was  capable  of  a  kind  of  heroism.  What 
a  gain !  And  a  boon  that  was  more  precious  still,  I  had 
regained  consciousness  of  the  ties  which  bound  me  to  a 
small  number  of  human  beings.  I  longed  to  be  with 
them  again.  I  would  bring  them  a  man  infinitely  more 
worthy  of  them.  I  had  two  cards  in  my  pocket.  A 
third  had  gone  to  a  girl.  .  .  .  Would  that  one  ever 
reach  its  destination  ?  Would  it  be  answered  ... 
soon? 

Lulled  by  these  dreams,  I  discovered  in  them  an 
excuse  for  the  drowsiness  which  enfolded  me.  What  I 
experienced  was  only  human.  Why  a  Roman  rigour? 


A  Victorious  Dawn  249 

If  I  did  not  burn  to  risk  everything  blindly  in  an  adven- 
ture of  regeneration,  if  I  let  myself  be  touched  by  the 
idea  of  a  calm  life  spent  among  companions  of  my 
choice,  if,  in  order  that  such  a  desire  might  be  ful- 
filled, I  caught  myself  wishing  for  a  cessation  of  hosti- 
lities, an  armistice,  or  an  "honourable"  peace  of  some 
kind,  good  God,  was  it  anything  to  be  ashamed  of? 
What  right  had  all  the  great  sentiments  in  the  world 
to  suppress  my  humble  wish  to  be  happy? 


CHAPTER  XIV 
EN  ROUTE  AGAIN 

SOME  time  passed  by.  A  distant  fusillade  crackled 
for  a  moment.  The  big  guns  boomed  for  an  hour, 
and  then  were  silent.  It  was  becoming  doubtful 
whether  we  should  go  on  that  day.  Henri ot  got 
impatient.  The  men  asked  for  nothing  better  than 
to  start  again.  When  once  the  rations  had  been 
issued  and  the  cooks  had  dished  up  a  hot  meal,  we 
could  manage. 

There  was  some  question  of  a  party  of  us  being 
told  off  to  bury  the  dead.  I  dreaded  lest  this  fatigue 
should  fall  to  us ;  I  foresaw  how  horrible  it  would  be. 
We  luckily  escaped  it.  An  unexpected  order  came  for 
the  battalion  to  move  on. 

I  noticed  that  we  were  going  northwards,  in  the 
direction  of  the  enemy.  We  were  preceded  by 
patrol  parties,  and  reconnoitring  cavalry  covered  us. 

The  march  was  not  marked  by  any  notable  incident. 
I  remembered  that  we  passed  through  a  big  village 
which  had  been  occupied  up  till  the  night  before  by 
the  enemy.  One  would  have  liked  to  stop  there,  to 
question  the  inhabitants  whom  we  were  delivering 
from  this  nightmare,  and  make  friends  with  them. 
.  .  .  But  where  were  they?  There  was  nobody 
but  old  women  to  be  seen,  and  on  their  waxen  faces  I 

250 


En  Route  Again  251 

thought  I  made  out  a  strange  resentful  expression. 
Why  resentful?  Because  their  village  had  been 
abandoned,  and  left  if  only  for  a  few  hours  to  the 
mercy  of  the  invaders,  who  had  taken  the  healthy 
men  with  them  when  they  left,  and  had  said:  "We 
shall  come  back,  but  next  time  we  shall  not  leave  one 
stone  upon  another." 

We  got  hot,  marching.  I  was  possessed  by  the 
thought  of  poor  De  Valpic  dying  of  thirst.  I  ended 
by  going  to  find  him,  and  offering  to  share  what  was 
left  in  my  water-bottle  with  him.  He  refused  to 
accept  it,  and  I  had  to  force  it  on  him,  but  this  scene 
which  was  repeated  twice  a  day  bored  me. 

Bouillon  noticed  my  annoyance  and  realised  the 
reason  for  it.  He  hailed  the  cyclist,  a  man  named 
Ducostal,  and  gave  him  to  understand  that  my 
water  -bottle  leaked. 

"Try  to  get  hold  of  one  for  the  sergeant!  Enough 
poor  lads  have  been  knocked  out  with  them!" 

"Righto!"  said  the  other.  "I'm  just  taking  a 
stroll  across  to  the  field  ambulance." 

Just  on  the  chance  I  begged  him  to  ask  for  news 
of  Sergeant  Fremont  of  the  22nd,  down  there. 

He  went  off.  I  felt  certain  that  he  would  forget 
both  commissions. 

During  the  long  halt  in  a  field  by  the  roadside, 
some  troops  came  into  sight.  We  went  to  have  a 
look,  because  it  was  a  regiment  of  regulars,  which- 
had  been  heavily  engaged,  we  knew,  during  the  last 
few  days. 

We  were  at  once  struck  by  the  gait  of  these  men. 
They  were  advancing  very  slowly  and  seemed  to  have 
to  make  an  effort  to  raise  their  legs  at  each  step  they 
took.  They  halted.  When  arms  had  been  piled 


252  Ordeal  by  Fire 

many  of  them  did  not  even  take  the  time  to  undo  their 
packs,  but  let  themselves  fall  where  they  stood. 
Several  of  them  went  to  sleep  instantly. 

They  were  worn  out.  Three  days'  fighting  without 
a  pause  and  three  nights.  .  .  .  The  terrible  nervous 
armed  multitude,  not  a  gesture,  not  a  cry  of  joy  in 
honour  of  this  victory  which  they  had  won.  Not 
to  speak  of  the  uniforms  stained  with  mud  and 
dust,  and  some  in  rags.  The  terrible  part  was  these 
dull,  ravaged  faces,  with  their  scared  and  dazed 
expressions. 

I  went  down  their  line  in  silence.  What  gaps  there 
were  in  these  ranks !  In  one  platoon  there  were  only 
fifteen  men  left.  A  fair-haired  corporal  on  the  ground 
was  trying  to  get  to  sleep,  but  the  flies  persecuted 
him.  I  chased  them  away. 

"Thanks,"  he  said. 

I  knelt  down  and  asked  him : 

"How  have  you  got  on?" 

He  turned  a  dull  eye  on  me,  and  answered  in  a 
broken  voice,  interrupted  by  dismaying  silences : 

"We're  done.  .  .  .  Ever  since  the  other  morning — 
what  day  is  it?  .  .  .we  have  done  nothing  but  fire 
.  .  .  and  be  fired  at.  At  night  too.  .  .  .  They  kept 
us  on  the  hop  .  .  .  with  their  whizz-bangs  and  bombs. 
.  .  .  Without  rot,  there  were  times  .  .  .  when  we 
envied  those  who  fell,  because  they  could  at  least 
.pause  for  a  while.  .  .  .  Look  here,  yesterday  evening 
when  the  rations  arrived  .  .  .well  .  .  ;  no  one  had 
the  strength  ...  to  put  the  stuff  into  their  mouths. 
They  had  to  send  some  dragoons  ...  up  ,  .  .  from 
the  rear  ...  to  feed  us  .  .  .  we  would  rather  have 
gone  under." 

I  left  him.-    I  understood  now  why -the  conquerors 


En  Route  Again  253 

do  not  usually  take  full  advantage  of  their  victory. 
And  I  thought  that  to-morrow  it  would  perhaps  be 
our  turn  to  go  through  it  all. 

We  had  just  started  off  again  when  Ducostal  turned 
up.  He  handed  me  a  new  water-bottle: 

"Here  you  are,  Sergeant!" 

"Thanks.     You're  a  ripper!" 

' '  Do  you  know,  nobody  knew  your  pal, ' '  he  continued. 
"I  was  sent  from  pillar  to  post.  Then  at  last  I  had 
the  luck  to  come  across  the  bloke  who  picked  him  up. 
He's  not  dead,  but  it'll  be  a  near  thing  if  he  pulls 
through.  Got  a  ball  through  the  lungs." 

"Oh,  I  hope  to  goodness  he'll  recover!"  I  said  out 
loud. 

I  had  fumbled  with  my  purse  in  my  pocket,  and 
slipped  a  piece  of  silver  into  the  man's  hand.  He 
looked  at  it,  and  then  gave  it  back. 

"  No,  Sergeant,  we're  not  out  to  make  at  this  game. 
You  stick  to  it." 

"And  then,"  he  added,  "do  you  remember  one 
morning  when  you  were  sergeant  of  the  guard  you 
didn't  report  me  missing?" 

The  incident  occurred  to  me.  So  he  was  the 
fellow  who  had  turned  up  one  morning,  after  a  day's 
leave,  and  implored  me  to  mark  him  down  as  having 
come  back  at  midnight. 

"Oh,  so  you  haven't  forgotten  that?" 

"Rather  not.  We  don't  forget  the  sahibs,  any 
more  than  we  forget  the  wasters." 

I  was  decidedly  in  a  fair  way  to  becoming  popular. 

At  the  next  halt,  I  went  to  find  De  Valpic: 

"  Look  here,  old  chap,  do  you  see  what  I've  managed 
to  get  hold  of  for  you?" 

I  held  up  the  new  water-bottle. 


254  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"And  what  about  you?" 

I  tapped  my  own. 

"  I've  got  mine,  but  it  worried  me  to  see  you  without 
one.  .  .  ." 

While  I  was  helping  him  to  adjust  it,  and  to  un- 
button his  shoulder-straps,  he  tried  to  say  something 
to  me: 

"Dreher  .  .  ."he  began  twice. 

I  interrupted  him.  I  was  unusually  good-humoured, 
and  gaily  told  him  of  my  experience  with  Judsi  the 
day  before.  I  added: 

"You  have  to  know  how  to  tackle  these  chaps." 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  that  wretched  regiment. 

I n  this  way  I  managed  to  fill  up  the  two  minutes'  halt. 

"Au  revoir,  old  fellow!" 

When  I  left  him  I  whistled,  and  felt  tremendously 
cheery.  I  believe  I  deluded  myself  into  thinking  that 
I  had  played  the  Good  Samaritan. 

The  day's  march  was  lengthening.  Henriot  was 
anxious  about  the  direction  we  were  taking. 

"Where  are  they  taking  us  to?" 

We  were  bearing  distinctly  westwards.  Guillau- 
min  suddenly  came  up  to  me  and  pointed  out  that  our 
company  had  been  detached  from  the  rest  and  was 
marching  alone. 

Were  they  going  to  make  us  take  outpost  duty? 
There  was  no  further  doubt  about  it  when  our  platoon 
went  on  alone,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  22nd  as  supports 
in  a  farm.  The  lieutenant  had  his  instructions;  he 
sent  out  scouts  and  made  us  advance  trailing  arms. 

In  about  ten  minutes  when  we  had  just  entered  the 
woods,  he  said: 

"Here  we  are!" 

An  important  crossroads.    The  site  was  well  chosen. 


CHAPTER  XV 
A  NIGHT  ON  OUTPOST  DUTY 

I  PASS  over  the  arrangements  of  our  pickets.  Each 
one  of  us  knew  his  duties,  and  acquitted  himself 
conscientiously  in  his  part.  Henriot  made  a  thorough 
reconnaissance.  When  he  came  back  he  showed  me 
a  plan  which  he  had  picked  up. 

"By  way  of  practice,  do  you  see?  Our  maps  only 
go  as  far  as  the  Rhine!" 

At  dusk,  a  lukewarm  meal  was  brought  to  us  from 
the  supports. 

The  gloom  grew  more  intense.  Our  vigil  was 
beginning. 

We  established  ourselves  in  a  clearing  about  twenty 
yards  from  the  road.  The  stumps  of  some  trees 
which  had  been  cut  down  were  utilised  as  seats,  a 
lot  of  us  sat  cross-legged,  either  on  the  ground,  or  on 
little  tufts  of  brushwood,  which  were  a  poor  protec- 
tion against  the  damp.  No  fire,  of  course.  By  the 
flickering  light  of  two  dim  section-lanterns  placed  on 
the  ground  we  could  make  out  the  carpet  of  trampled 
grasses,  and  a  big  black  circle,  the  remains  of  a  log 
fire. 

What  a  night  that  was.  During  the  first  few  hours 
Guillaumin  and  Henriot  never  ceased  chattering 
below  their  breath.  I  wondered  that  their  fatigue 

255 


256  Ordeal  by  Fire 

had  not  more  hold  over  them.  I  only-half  listened  to 
their  conversation  which  still  concerned  our  victorious 
march,  and  the  demoralised  enemy  flying  before  the 
sword.  Speed,  they  declared,  speed  must  come  before 
everything  else.  We  must  fall  upon  the  Bosches  in 
the  rear  before  they  had  time  to  recover  themselves. 

The  first  excitement  occurred  towards  ten  o'clock,  a 
shot  in  the  distance,  on  our  left.  Everyone  leapt  to 
his  feet.  Another,  and  still  another.  .  .  .  There 
was  no  doubt  about  it;  the  sentries'  orders  had  been 
so  explicit;  there  was  to  be  no  firing  except  in  case 
of  danger  or  surprise.  No.  3  picket,  next  to  us, 
had  surely  been  attacked.  Henriot,  much  agitated, 
repeated  the  instructions:  at  a  given  signal,  we  were 
to  extend  and  fall  back  on  the  support.  .  .  . 

"  It  was  not  our  business  to  put  up  a  fight.  ..." 

The  surprising  thing  was  that  the  firing  was  dying 
down.  We  remained  on  the  alert,  and  it  was  not  ten 
minutes  before  new  shots  rang  out,  on  our  right  this 
time,  at  No.  I  picket. 

"They 're  crazy!" 

Henriot  fumed. 

"The  lunatics!  Now  our  whole  line  of  outposts 
will  be  marked!" 

He  was  proud  that  our  lot  had  kept  their  heads. 
But  it  was  somewhat  previous.  A  shot  burst  out  in 
the  wood,  a  hundred  yards  away,  then  a  second: 
three,  four,  six.  We  saw  a  man  rush  up  stammering 
distractedly:  "Someone  had  come  up,  he  had  chal- 
lenged them,  they  had  not  stopped,  his  comrades  had 
been  carried  off.  ..." 

Not  very  encouraging!  However,  eight  or  ten 
volunteers  offered  to  go  and  see  what  the  matter 
was.  On  the  way  whom  should  we  meet  but  the  com- 


A  Night  on  Outpost  Duty        257 

radc  in  question,  who  was  on  the  lookout  and  slightly 
uneasy,  but  made  great  fun  of  his  companion,  who  had 
apparently  fired  at  some  shadows.  Henriot  was 
annoyed  and  inclined  to  be  hard  on  him.  Lamalou 
went  to  him. 

"Blackguard  'im  if  yer  like,  sir,  but  don't  'ave  'im 
punished.  It's  always  the  same  story  o'  nights 
just  at  fust,  you  sees  and  'ears  things!" 

He  spoke  from  his  experience  in  the  African  bush. 
Henriot  calmed  down,  and  agreed  that  the  sentinels 
were  too  far  from  the  reserve  picket ;  the  arrangement 
of  them  was  altered. 

This  continued  all  night  .  .  .  shots,  quite  near  at 
hand  or  some  far  away,  marking  out  the  zone  which 
was  being  patrolled.  We  soon  got  accustomed  to  it. 
At  the  end  of  two  hours  no  one  worried  about  it  any 
longer,  indeed  not  enough. 

An  overpowering  desire  to  sleep  began  to  take 
possession  of  us.  Over  and  over  again  I  almost 
gave  way.  My  head  nodded,  my  eyelids  closed. 
Then  Guillaumin  gave  me  a  shake. 

"Halloa,  there,  don't  leave  us  in  the  lurch!" 

Henriot  rubbed  it  in ! 

"Remember  we  are  responsible  for  the  security  of 
the  whole  army." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  the  fact  that  he  behaved 
in  the  most  praiseworthy  fashion,  sparing  himself 
no  pains.  He  was  always  to  be  seen  on  his  feet, 
going  to  shake  up  the  men  who  were  reeling  with 
weariness.'  Towards  midnight,  the  critical  time, 
he  suddenly  proposed  that  we  should  play  games.  I 
thought  at  first  that  he  was  joking.  But  no,  he  had 
undertaken  to  keep  us  awake  at  all  costs.  He  must 
treat  the  children  in  his  school  in  the  same  way. 

X7 


258  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Childish  occupation  kept  us  amused  for  a  long  while. 
The  greatest  success  was  the  game  of  Old  Mother 
Perlimpin  Pin  which  soon  had  to  be  stopped  as  the 
laughter  was  becoming  so  uproarious. 

Towards  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  thunder 
shower  came  on.  We  were  soon  soaked  to  the  skin. 

"In  ordinary  life,"  joked  Guillaumin,  "we  should 
have  kicked  the  bucket  after  a  night  like  this." 

I  offered  to  go  the  rounds  with  the  object  of  keeping 
myself  awake. 

The  first  sentry  challenged  me  at  a  good  distance. 
It  was  Judsi.  He  was  calmly  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"Smoking's  not  allowed,  Judsi." 

"Pooh.  It's  a  bit  o'  coompany.  That  won't  stop 
a  chap  keepin'  'is  eyes  skinned." 

But  directly  I  had  pointed  out  that  the  point  of  light 
might  betray  his  presence  at  a  distance,  he  gave  way : 

"That's  true  enough,  that  is." 

He  instantly  threw  his  cigarette  away  in  the  damp 
grass. 

I  wanted  to  try  an  experiment  on  the  next  sentry- 
group  and  continued  to  advance  after  the  order  to 
"Halt!"  Very  well!  I  saw  my  two  fine  fellows 
both  order  arms  again. 

"Well,  what  are  you  up  to?  This  is  a  nice  state  of 
affairs."  I  reproached  them. 

"We  recognised  you,  Sergeant!" 

"That  doesn't  matter,  you  ought  to  have  made  me 
halt." 

"But  as  we  recognised  you!" 

It  was  impossible  to  get  them  to  alter  their  opinion. 
As  for  the  last  two  sentries,  they  simply  "about- 
turned"  on  the  spot;  that  is  to  say,  that  at  the  first 
suspicious  sound  they  fired  on  the  picket. 


A  Night  on  Outpost  Duty        259 

I  saw  how  unhinged  and  overwrought  they  were, 
and  had  pity  on  them.  I  ended  by  promising  to  say 
nothing  about  it  to  the  subaltern. 

I  found  the  latter  on  his  knees.  He  had  spread  out 
his  map,  which  was  beginning  to  get  torn,  and  was 
saying  to  Guillaumin  that  we  should  do  no  more  than 
screen  Metz;  the  chief  thing  was  to  push  straight  on 
to  Mayence,  the  key  to  the  whole  of  the  Rhine  district. 

The  rain  stopped,  and  some  time  passed.  Towards 
four  o'clock  Henriot  shyly  suggested : 

"Would  it  bore  you  frightfully  to  go  out  with  a 
patrol  party  ?" 

"On  the  contrary!" 

The  idea  appealed  to  me.  By  gad,  I  was  not  sorry 
to  be  able  to  stretch  my  legs.  I  chose  four  men. 
Bouillon  who  had  just  been  on  outpost  duty  absolutely 
insisted  on  being  one  of  them.  He  was  not  going 
to  let  me  go  alone.  He  was  certainly  a  good  chap ! 

We  plunged  into  the  darkness.  Hardly  had  we 
gone  a  hundred  yards  before  it  seemed  as  if  we  were 
a  hundred  miles  away  from  the  picket  and  its  protec- 
tion. We  were  in  the  middle  of  the  forest,  the  gloom 
was  intense.  Silent  raindrops  dripped  on  to  our 
shoulders  and  caps  from  the  foliage  above  our  heads. 
My  companions  followed  in  my  footsteps.  I  was 
not  only  ahead  of  this  patrol,  but  ahead  of  the 
whole  army,  a  daring  explorer  sent  out  towards  the 
enemy,  who  was  perhaps  lying  in  ambush.  I  often 
stood  still  and  silently  gazed  into  the  darkness.  I  had 
told  my  men  to  regulate  their  movements  by  mine, 
but  we  were  almost  invisible  to  each  other.  Some- 
times I  distinguished  .  .  .  that  noise  of  muffled 
marching  .  .  .  didn't  it  come  from  in  front?  Or 
again  when  I  heard  some  branch  crack  in  the  under- 


260  Ordeal  by  Fire 

wood,  my  heart  thumped  unevenly;  I  caught  my 
breath;  I  thought  I  made  out  forms,  phantoms 
crouching,  yonder  .  .  .  ready  to  hurl  themselves. 
.  .  .  How  agonising  it  was ! 

How  much  more  courage  I  had  need  of  than  when 
under  fire.  I  regretted  yesterday's  danger  in  com- 
parison. I  opened  my  mouth  to  shout,  "Everyone 
for  himself!"  My  trembling  knees  wanted  to  fly. 
But  here,  as  on  the  day  before,  what  urged  me  on 
against  my  will  was  the  presence  of  the  men  who  saw 
in  me  their  leader.  The  consciousness  of  my  r61e,  of 
my  authority  which  must  be  kept  up,  seized  me  by  the 
collar.  I  had  to  go  on,  and  I  went  on.  I  got  safely 
past  the  place  where  I  had  feared  the  ambush. 
For  a  moment  I  was  delighted  to  have  surmounted 
this  terror,  delighted  even  to  have  experienced  it. 
What  a  chapter  it  added  to  my  campaign  impressions ! 
What  a  joy  it  would  be  one  day  to  recall  these  deadly 
terrors,  if  only  I  escaped  them. 

It  was  an  interminable  journey.  The  subaltern 
had  told  me  to  follow  the  road  up  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood.  Having  arrived  there  I  was  to  take  a  certain 
road  whence  I  should  get  excellent  views  over  a  large 
stretch  of  country. 

We  continued  to  advance.  Our  shoes  squelched 
in  the  soft  loam,  and  got  covered  with  lumps  of  mud. 
We  were  splashed  at  each  puddle.  Our  feet  were 
soaked,  our  hands,  pinched  with  cold,  clutched 
convulsively  at  our  rifles. 

It  was  nearly  forty  minutes  since  we  had  left  the 
clearing.  From  time  to  time  a  shot  on  our  left  re- 
assured us;  a  sentry  group  was  on  the  lookout  there. 
I  was  still  watching  for  the  road  which  ought  to  turn 
off  on  our  right.  The  forest  just  lately  had  given  place 


A  Night  on  Outpost  Duty         261 

to  a  bushy  thicket.  The  sky  was  already  paling,  and 
in  the  clear  transparency  I  saw  the  beginning  of  a 
bridle-path.  What  a  relief!  All  we  had  to  do  now 
was  to  skirt  the  hostile  zone,  instead  of  continuing 
to  penetrate  into  it,  more  terrified  at  each  step. 

The  path  climbed  the  side  of  the  hill.  We  occasion- 
ally caught  a  glimpse  of  a  misty  expanse.  Farther 
on,  the  view  opened  out,  and  we  lay  down  flat  on  our 
faces,  our  elbows  resting  on  the  dewy  grass  of  a 
hillock. 

The  sky  tone  was  neutral.  The  chief  features  in 
the  landscape  were  lent  precision  by  the  coming 
dawn.  At  our  feet  pearl-grey  meadows  sloped  gently 
down  to  a  highway  bordered  with  trees,  which  might 
be  followed  northwards  for  miles,  running  in  a  straight 
line  between  two  rounded  hills.  On  the  left  there 
was  a  bizarre  eminence,  abrupt  and  bald;  on  the 
right  two  steeples,  one  of  which  rose  at  a  short  dis- 
tance away  behind  a  stretch  of  colourless  heath.  A 
mist  hung  about,  dimming  the  surfaces  and  blurring 
the  outlines.  Another  gloomy  day  in  the  making. 

"See  anything,  Bouillon?" 

"Never  a  Bosche!"  he  declared. 

Our  glance  probed  each  particle  of  ground.  There 
was  nothing  suspicious,  in  the  plain,  or  on  the  roads, 
which  looked  like  huge  ribbons.  The  enemy  appeared 
to  have  melted  away.  Our  field  of  view  increased, 
the  shadows  were  dispersing,  and  the  horizon  seemed 
to  recoil.  Still  nothing  to  be  seen. 

"They  must  'ave  'ad  a  scare." 

Our  mission  was  apparently  at  an  end.  It  was  up 
to  the  aeroplanes  to  take  observations  of  the  enemy's 
new  -positions.  One  of  the  war-birds  happened  to  be 
flying  over -yonder  at-  that  moment,  but  we  were  un- 


262  Ordeal  by  Fire 

deceived  when  it  approached,  and  we  recognised  a 
Taube. 

"Let's  be  getting  back!" 

"Say,  Sergeant,  the  country's  not  so  dusty!" 

Touched  and  curious,  did  we  foresee  the  miracle 
with  which  daybreak  was  to  endow  us  ? 

Here  was  the  luminous  veil  of  the  aerial  vault 
above  us  being  rent  and  scattered.  Shreds  of  the 
more  transparent  vapours  still  floated  in  the  air, 
but  the  depths  had.  ceased  to  look  so  uniformly  dust- 
coloured.  It  was  not  long  before  cracks  and  then 
fissures  and  then  chasms  were  hollowed  in  the  clouds, 
and  the  liquid  blue  shone  out  between  them  bathed  in 
a  diaphanous  radiance.  The  true  sky  smiled  at  last. 
The  fleecy  clouds  dispersed  and  vanished,  a  few  of 
them  lingered  in  the  form  of  scarfs,  so  attenuated 
that  they  looked  like  modest  nebulas.  The  scintilla- 
tion of  the  stars  pierced  through  them.  They  would 
only  shine  for  a  moment  and  then  pale  in  the  growing 
daylight,  but  it  was  enough  that  they  had  reminded 
the  mortals,  saddened  by  the  opaque  and  misty  night, 
of  their  existence. 

The  whole  of  spring  glowed  resplendent  in  this 
summer  dawn.  Newly  awakened  chaffinches  chir- 
ruped and  chased  each  other  at  the  edge  of  the  wood. 
The  luscious  green  countryside,  a  sight  to  gladden  the ' 
eyes,  exhaled  the  fragrance  of  recent  harvest  mingled 
with  the  resinous  perfume  of  the  firs  and  larches 
sown  among  the  beeches  round  about  us.  Now  the 
entire  firmament  was  clear  and  serene,  suggested  in 
fluctuating  colouring  which  changed  by  harmonious 
gradations  from  a  mauve  verging  on  violet,  in  which 
the  western  sky  was  bathed,  to  the  pale  phos- 
phorescence, which,  on  the  opposite  horizon  heralded 


A  Night  on  Outpost  Duty        263 

the  approach  of  Apollo.  On  that  side  the  mists  ac- 
cumulated in  the  recesses  of  the  valleys,  evaporated 
more  quickly,  and  rose  up  impalpable,  the  incense  of 
the  earth.  Unsuspected  ridges  appeared.  Through 
an  opening  between  the  two  crests  my  wandering  gaze 
could  glide  towards  a  blue  distance,  infinite  as  the 
ocean. 

I  A  plain,  a  different  region,  seemed  to  open  out  down 
there.  It  occurred  to  me  that  the  Woevre  might  lie 
in  that  direction.  Yes,  we  must  have  reached  the 
confines  of  the  valley  of  the  Meuse.  Yonder  my 
brother  had  fallen.  I  made  a  vague  attempt  to  recall 
my  sorrow  and  rancour,  to  connect  my  present 
mission  with  that  of  the  army  and  my  nation.  My 
consciousness  repelled  these  fierce  imaginings.  Tak- 
ing a  deep  breath  I  inhaled  the  woodland  scents. 
I  chewed  a  stalk  of  grass,  and  dangled  a  corn-flower 
picked  on  the  other  side  of  the  slope.  I  naively 
congratulated  myself  on  being  present,  in  the  womb 
of  nature,  at  the  birth  of  each  dawn,  with  which  I, 
as  a  civilised  being,  had  rejoiced  my  eyes  too  seldom. 

The  sun  rose.  A  ray  of  gold  touched  us,  appearing 
from  the  bottom  of  the  disk.  The  outline  of  the  orb 
was  barely  discernible,  hidden  by  the  triangular 
shadow  of  some  peak  or  other,  reared  at  an  immense 
distance,  which  stood  out  in  relief  against  the  lumi- 
nous segment.  The  planet  as  it  rose  hesitated  for 
some  time  before  adopting  a  shape.  It  stretched 
itself  out,  and  capriciously  widened  then  lengthened 
itself,  a  dark  red  mass  upon  which  it  was  still  possible 
for  the  naked  eye  to  gaze. 

I  wondered  vaguely  where  I  had  lately  delighted  in 
a  similar  vision? 

The  ball  grew  more  condensed   and,    ceasing   its 


264  Ordeal  by  Fire 

frolics  on  the  orange  line  of  the  horizon,  rose  rapidly, 
armed  with  a  blinding  brilliance.  Then — sparkling 
reminder — a  sickle-shaped  streak  began  to  glitter  on 
the  ground  below :  some  pond.  .  .  A  flight  of  memories 
was  instantly  loosed,  and  soared  in  me,  and  then 
subsided,  eddying.  My  heart  leapt  at  the  vivid 
recollection.  It  was  the  Suchet  morning;  we  had 
seen  the  sun  rise  from  the  snowy  Alps,  equally  dis- 
tended and  tortuous,  until  the  instant,  when  full 
blown,  it  had  reflected  its  disk  in  the  waters  of 
Neufchatel.  .  .  . 

Good  God!  How  short  a  time  ago  it  was.  It  was 
only  three  weeks  since  we  had  dallied  happy  in  our 
youth.  My  memory  caressed  each  detail  of  that 
excursion,  the  first  glimpse  we  had  had  of  the  abyss  in 
whose  depths  there  had  shone,  like  ships'  lights, 
the  lights  of  the  Canton-de-Vaud — and  our  wait  for  the 
miracle's  accomplishment  in  the  icy  atmosphere  of  the 
mountain  top.  In  order  to  warm  ourselves  we  had 
laughingly  thrown  pebbles  down  the  slope  in  an 
endless  avalanche.  .  .  . 

As  I  lingered  dreamily  over  this  resurrection  the 
pictures  faded  away  of  themselves.  One  alone 
persisted,  infinitely  sweet.  I  mentally  breathed  the 
name.  Seated  on  a  rock  which  jutted  out  on  a  level 
with  the  ground,  breathing  in  deep  breaths  of  the 
scented  air  of  the  hilltops,  turned  towards  the  rising 
sun,  it  was  yours,  Jeannine,  my  friend.  ... 


CHAPTER  XVI 
GOOD   COMRADES 

WE  expected  to  be  picked  up  by  the  battalion  that 
same  morning,  to  continue  the  march.  Nothing 
came  of  it.  We  were  simply  relieved  about  two 
o'clock  by  the  2nd  platoon. 

Annoyance  on  the  part  of  Henriot.  He  ques- 
tioned Lieutenant  Delafosse  who  succeeded  him. 
The  latter  knew  nothing  about  it,  nothing  at  all! 
He  was  yawning.  He  noted  the  sentry's  orders 
with  a  bored  expression. 

We  rejoined  the  rest  of  the  company  at  the  farm 
where  they  remained  in  support  of  the  outposts. 
For  the  first  time  in  four  days  I  was  able  to  indulge 
in  a  wash  and  a  change  of  linen.  The  joy  of  it. 
Bouillon  rolled  my  things  up  into  a  parcel  and  carried 
them  off.  He  was  left  busy  all  the  afternoon  washing, 
cleaning,  and  brushing  them,  while  I  slept  on  the 
straw. 

When  I  woke  Guillaumin  announced : 
"I  say,  we're  going  a  bust  this  evening!" 
He   and   Breton   had   been   to   "get   round"   the 
farmer's  wife,  who  for  a  comparatively  moderate  sum 
had  consented  to  hand  over  a  couple  of  fine  rabbits. 
"How  many  of  us  will  there  be  for  them?" 
"Eight.  .  .  .  No;  nine,  v.rith  the  sergeant-major." 
265 


266  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Oh  "that  lot"  was  going  to  join  us?  Yes,  Guillau- 
min,  who  bore  no  grudge,  had  invited  them.  He 
explained  that  we  would  go  shares;  it  would  come 
cheaper  like  that ! 

"Haven't  I  done  right?" 

I  gave  my  approval.  I  liked  to  think  it  might  be 
the  beginning  of  a  renewal  of  cordiality. 

Guillaumin  had  introduced  Gaufreteaux  to  the 
farmeress,  who  having  quickly  known  him  for  what 
he  was,  a  real  virtuoso  of  the  frying-pan  and  casserole, 
had  given  him  a  free  hand.  She  had  no  reason  to 
repent  it,  as  she  was  invited  to  join  us  and  share 
the  feast.  Rabbit  a  la  Bordelaise,  a  croute  aux  cham- 
pignons, and  ham  a  la  Proven$ale  reminded  her  of  the 
cheer  at  her  sister's  wedding. 

Playoust  had  persuaded  her  to  bring  out  some  wine. 
It  was  pronounced  excellent.  Much  flattered,  she 
announced  her  intention  of  giving  it  to  us  free  of 
charge.  We  cheered  her.  We  touched  glasses  again 
and  again,  and  drank  to  the  health  of  her  boy,  who 
had  left  on  the  third  day  of  mobilisation  to  join  her 
father,  one  of  the  heroes  of  the  year  '70,  in  the  Zouaves. 
I  am  not  sure  that  we  did  not  drink  to  the  health  of  her 
deceased  husband. 

The  wag  of  the  evening  was  Playoust.  There  was 
no  denying  that  the  fellow  was  really  funny  when  he 
liked.  He  hummed  and  sang  and  imitated  the  calls  of 
animals.  And  between  times  he  got  Hourcade  to 
take  some  powdered  chalk  thinking  it  was  castor 
sugar,  and  an  egg,  taken  from  a  setting  hen,  in  an  egg 
cup  (the  chicken  was  in  it!). 

I  forget  how  it  was  that  he  came  to  jeer,  in  pretty 
strong  terms  too,  at  Henriot.  Humel  immediately 
backed  him  up;  the  battalion  sergeant-major,  who  had 


Good  Comrades  267 

drunk  rather  more  than  was  wise,  let  him  have  his 
say,  and  winked,  and  even  went  as  far  as  to  put  in  a 
word  himself.  The  poor  lieutenant  was  laughed  at 
for  his  strategical  pretensions,  in  a  really  unkind 
manner.  I  was  surprised.  I  should  have  thought 
that  he  would  have  found  grace  at  the  hands  of  these 
fellows  for  whom  he  was  always  doing  good  turns. 
Oh,  ah!  Grace!  Playoust  went  off  on  a  new  tack, 
and  talked  of  his  behaviour  under  fire.  It  was  gro- 
tesque. Beat  everything!  He  had  let  his  platoon 
go  hang,  had  chucked  himself  into  a  hole,  and  left 
the  others  to  get  along  as  best  they  could. 

He  raised  howls  of  laughter,  and  by  Jove,  I  joined 
in.  There  was  some  truth  in  what  he  said  after  all. 
Guillaumin  alone  protested  vigorously  and  courage- 
ously but  unfortunately  he  embarked  upon  a  verbose 
vindication  which  tended  to  prove  that  true  courage 
consists  precisely  in  being  afraid.  .  .  . 

"Listen  to  the  staff-officer!" 

He  was  hooted  and  pelted  with  bread  pellets,  and 
finally  reduced  to  silence.  Dessert  time.  The  bot- 
tles went  on  circulating.  The  wine  had  gone  to  my 
head.  I  hazarded  a  few  facile  pleasantries,  which 
were  greeted  with  roars  of  laughter,  which  spurred 
my  malice  on  to  further  efforts.  I  set  myself  to  rival 
Playoust's  buffoonery.  He  gained  a  momentary 
advantage  by  imitating  the  various  phases  of  a  pig 
fight.  We  had  to  go  to  the  help  of  the  farmeress 
who  was  choking  with  laughter.  Then  I  played  the 
ventriloquist,  one  of  my  parlour  tricks.  I  gave  a 
three-part  scene.  Our  hostess  again  grew  hysterical, 
and  a  dish  was  broken. 

I  felt  occasional  twinges  of  remorse  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  folly.  All  this  gaiety  the  day  after  a  cruel 


268  Ordeal  by  Fire 

loss!  .  .  .  But  what  did  it  matter?  Had  I  not 
mourned  my  brother  as  he  would  have  liked  to  be 
mourned?  This  death  already  seemed  such  an  old 
story.  .  .  .  And  lastly  I  privately  thought  that  I  had 
acquired  a  sort  of  right  to  give  proof  of  a  versatile 
disposition  .  .  .  violent  and  fleeting  feelings,  tears 
yesterday,  and  joy  to-day.  Was  it  not  the  prerogative 
of  soldiers  and  children? 

We  spent  several  days  at  this  farm.  Every  evening 
when  we  went  to  sleep,  we  expected  to  have  to  turn 
out  and  start  off  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Henriot 
was  eaten  up  with  impatience,  and  repeated: 

"It's  madness  not  to  profit  by  our  advantage! 
We  ought  to  be  near  Treves  by  now!" 

He  calmed  down  at  last.  The  captain  had  laughed 
at  him,  and  reminded  him  of  endless  circumstances 
in  military  history,  where  prudence  had  dictated  an 
identical  line  of  conduct,  which  was  to  recover  oneself 
before  entering  upon  a  new  enterprise. 

Besides  that  there  was  a  complete  lack  of  any 
news:  not  a  word  of  the  development  of  the  action 
in  Alsace-Lorraine.  We  only  had  the  impression  of  a 
general  movement  of  our  armies  towards  the  Belgian 
frontier.  A  big  blow  would  be  struck  in  the  North! 
From  time  to  time  I  amused  myself  by  goading 
Guillaumin.  How  were  we  getting  on  over  there,  I 
wondered. 

He  no  longer  took  me  seriously,  or  else  retorted : 

"My  dear  chap,  we  only  have  to  hold  out  for  three 
weeks.  The  Russians  will  be  coming  along  now!" 

Again  one  might  have  thought  we  were  at  manoeu- 
vres. The  spirit  of  the  men  was  extraordinary. 
The  fight  the  other  dnv,  the  wounded  and  dead — all 


Good  Comrades  269 

that  was  forgotten,  or  rather  it  was  taken  as  a  basis 
for  fearing  nothing  from  the  future.  They  took  a  de- 
light in  repeating  that  the  worst  was  over.  Artillery, 
machine-guns,  and  rifles  had  all  talked  at  the  same 
time.  The  Bosches  could  not  invent  anything  worse. 

I  have  said  that  I  was  on  good  terms  now  with  the 
poilus  in  my  section,  but  I  was  not  intimate  with 
them  yet.  I  made  a  few  tentative  advances.  I 
asked  one  or  two  of  them  about  their  family,  or  their 
home  life.  They  answered  me  politely,  but  did  not 
expand.  I  had  the  feeling  that  I  embarrassed,  almost 
disquieted,  them;  so  I  soon  stopped.  There  was  no 
need  to  bother  myself. 

The  most  complete  idleness  reigned.  The  bat- 
talion sergeant-major  no  longer  multiplied  parades. 
He,  Ravelli,  had  changed  in  the  most  extraordinary 
way  since  he  had  been  under  fire.  He  took  no 
interest  in  anything  and  left  his  men  to  themselves. 
He  may  have  heard — it  was  Breton  who  insinuated 
it — French  bullets  whistling  past  his  ears ! 

The  Lamalou-Judsi  lot  organised  fishing  parties  at 
a  pond  close  to  the  farm.  No  notice  was  taken  for 
the  first  two  days;  on  the  third  day  they  brought 
back  a  cartload  of  fish,  having  been  inspired  with  the 
brilliant  idea  of  stretching  a  net  from  one  side  to  the 
other.  They  had  cleared  everything.  The  farmeress 
protested  that  the  pond  belonged  to  her.  The 
captain  lost  his  temper  and  threatened  the  beggars 
with  Court  Martial.  They  did  not  haul  down  their 
colours.  Things  were  getting  serious.  Lamalou 
clenched  his  fist. 

"I've  been  through  the  Court  Martial  once  before 
now,  I  'ave.  I'll  tell  'em  it's  a  bit  rough  on  a  chap 
wot's  going  to  get  knocked  on  the  'ead." 


270  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  privately  agreed  with  him.  Playoust  secretly 
encouraged  him,  just  to  see  what  would  happen.  As 
for  Guillaumin,  he  took  the  defaulters  apart,  and 
reasoned  with  them.  I  don't  know  what  he  preached 
or  promised,  but  the  fact  was  that  he  appeased  them. 
He  went  off  to  see  the  captain  and  disarmed  him 
too.  The  matter  went  no  further. 

But  that  evening  at  mess  he  gave  Playoust  a  bit  of 
his  mind.  The  latter,  surrounded  by  his  faithful 
satellites,  answered  back  and  had  the  last  word. 

I  had  kept  out  of  it.  It  was  my  turn  next  morn 
ing.  I  found  the  whole  lot  collected  round  the  well, 
disputing  violently. 

"What's  up?"  I  asked. 

Descroix  shouted : 

"Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  thing!  This '11  be  the 
third  day  that  the  company  has  taken  outpost  duty." 

No.  i  platoan  had  just  been  told  that  it  was  their 
turn  to  supply  No.  2  picket.  They  had  been  con- 
gratulating themselves  upon  getting  out  of  it.  Hence 
their  rage ! 

"Always  the  same  lot  to  fork  out." 

Playoust  headed  them: 

"It's  disgustin'  that's  wot  it  is.  There's  the  bally 
2ist  there  doin'  nothing.  Wy  can't  they  send  them? " 

I  ventured  to  remark: 

"You've  not  been  overdone  so  far." 

I  laughed. 

"Outpost  duty  has  its  interesting  moments." 

They  fell  upon  me,  and  in  such  a  tone ! 

"Oh,  Dreher  .  .  .  on  other  people's  worries  .  .  .!" 

I  retorted.  There  was  a  sudden  torrent  of  bitter 
words,  of  almost  injurious  reproaches.  Yes,  yes, 
they  had  seen  me  at  it !  Then  they  brought  up  their 


Good  Comrades  271 

eternal  grievances  at  F .     Descroix  accused  me  of 

toadying  to  the  lieutenant. 

Oh !  I  turned  on  my  heel.  I  was  stupefied,  sick- 
ened at  this  persistent  animosity  after  our  brotherly 
agape,  the  other  day.  What  paltry  minds  they 
had! 


CHAPTER  XVII 
DE   VALPIC 

I  HAD  not  seen  much  of  De  Valpic  during  the  last 
few  days.  Our  platoons  had  relieved  each  other,  and 
his  presence  always  weighed  on  me  a  little  like  a  vague 
remorse. 

That  afternoon  I  found  him  lying,  with  closed  eyes, 
in  the  shed  I  had  gone  into,  meaning  to  take  a  nap. 
He  raised  his  eyelids : 

"Halloa!" 

I  had  to  go  up  to  him,  and  asked  him: 

"Not  so  bad  the  other  night,  was  it?" 

"For  me  it  was." 

I  joked. 

"For  you  particularly?" 

"Yes,  I've  got  a  cold  already." 

He  coughed. 

"Pooh!"  I  said  rather  abruptly.  "As  long  as 
you've  nothing  worse  than  that  the  matter  with 
you." 

I  suddenly  thought  of  him  as  a  soft  flabby  creature, 
this  tall  fellow  brought  up  by  women.  I  think  he 
guessed  my  thoughts. 

"If  only  I  had  not  got  such  a  high  temperature!" 
he  said. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 
272 


De  Valpic  273 

"High  temperature!  Who  said  you'd  got  a  high 
temperature?" 

I  stretched  myself  on  the  straw,  without  much  desire 
to  continue  conversation.  He  seemed  to  be  searching 
in  his  pocket.  I  saw  a  sort  of  metallic  tube  between 
his  fingers,  which  he  unscrewed;  then  holding  the 
thing  out  to  me,  said: 

"Here  you  are,  just  look  at  this  will  you?" 

He  explained : 

"It's  a  mouth  thermometer.  I  always  carry  it  on 
me." 

"What  an  idea!" 

I  did  not  know  that  the  instrument  existed  in  this 
form.  The  graduated  glass  tube  only  measured  a 
few  centimetres.  I  mechanically  turned  it  round  and 
round  until  I  saw  the  little  column  of  mercury  shining. 

"102.2°!"  I  exclaimed.  "Is  that  your  tempera- 
ture?" 

"Yes." 

"You  ought  to  take  some  .  .  .  quinine." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"You  see  .  .  .it's  the  same  nearly  every  day." 

I  did  not  understand. 

"WThat?" 

" I'm  ill, "  he  murmured.  "It's  rotten,  oh  heavens, 
how  rotten  it  is!" 

I  looked  at  him  interrogatively.  Turned  towards 
me  he  unburdened  himself  of  his  secret,  in  a  broken 
voice.  It  was  months,  years  now  since  he  had  been 
well.  Last  spring  his  mother —  "Maman"  he  said 
(the  word  moved  me  and  made  me  dream  of  mine) 
— his  mother  had  implored  him  to  consult  a  doctor 
.  .  .  He  had  resisted  a  long  time  afraid  to  hear  that 
he  was  ill.  .  .  .  How  alarming  it  had  been  when  the 
is 


274  Ordeal  by  Fire 

doctor,  after  sounding  him,  had  knitted  his  eyebrows 
and  told  him  he  must  be  careful.  It  was  not  so  very 
long  since  his  father,  a  few  months  after  a  warning 
of  this  kind,  had  been  taken  from  them. 

While  he  talked  I  seized  the  opportunity  of  watch- 
ing him  unobserved.  Now  that  my  eyes  were  opened 
I  immediately  became  aware  of  the  well-known  signs : 
this  narrow,  hollow  chest,  the  sallow  complexion,  the 
pink  patches  on  the  cheek-bones,  down  to  the  tapering 
fingers. 

"I  realised  that  I  could  not  take  any  risks  and  I 
wanted  to  live.  ...  I  wanted  to.  Two  days  later 
Mother  and  I  took  the  train  to  Switzerland.  Do  you 
know  Chateau  d'Oex?" 

I  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"I  stayed  there  for  four  months,  April  to  July, 
resting  on  a  long  chair  in  the  sun." 

"Did  you  get  better?" 

"  Much  better,  yes.  No  perspiring  at  night.  I  put 
on  weight,  and  at  the  same  time  my  temperature,  oh ! 
the  thermometer,  you  know,  is  the  surest  sign  of  all  1 
I  had  seen  my  father,  getting  so  terribly  feverish  every 
afternoon !  As  for  me,  when  I  saw  that  it  already  rose 
quite  easily  to  101.1°,  101.3°  I  na-d  n°t  the  slightest 
doubt  about  it.  Well,  I  repeat,  everything  was  improv- 
ing. They  told  me  that  if  I  continued  to  take  great 
care  all  the  winter  ..." 

He  paused  for  a  few  seconds : 

"But  on  the  2nd  of  August,  you  see  ...  I  had  to 
leave." 

"What  did  your  mother  say  to  it?" 

He  avoided  that  subject,  but  from  a  chance  word  he 
let  slip  I  guessed  the  anguish  and  the  resistance  of  his 
people — the  sustained  struggle. 


De  Valpic  275 

"You  ought  to  have  got  discharged!" 

"  How  could  I  at  such  a  moment !    And  then  ..." 

His  voice  was  muffled: 

"Our  family  have  always  fought  well!" 

I  silently  evoked  the  De  Valpics  whose  names 
shine  in  our  annals:  the  Lord  High  Constable,  the 
Admiral  .  .  . 

"  I  hoped  it  would  turn  out  all  right.  At  F 

I  managed  fairly  well ;  I  kept  watch,  you  see,  with  my 
little  thermometer!" 

"And  now?" 

"Ah,  now!  I've  caught  cold  again.  I  was  told: 
'Whatever  you  do,  don't  get  cold." 

He  coughed,  and  said  very  softly: 

"This  morning  I  spat  some  blood." 

With  a  touching  gesture  he  sought  my  hand  and 
squeezed  it. 

"Dreher,  I  tell  you  all  that  because  you've  been 
good  to  me.  Yes,  yes,  I  shall  never  forget  it.  The 
other  day  you  didn't  let  me  thank  you.  Dreher,  will 
you  believe  that  .  .  .  I'm  your  friend?" 

Not  wishing  to  show  how  much  touched  I  was,  I 
continued  in  a  decided  tone  : 

"In  the  state  you  are  in,  old  fellow,  you  have  no 
alternative  but  to  get  discharged. " 

He  shook  his  head.  I  insisted.  I  pleaded  the 
cause  of  reason.  He  had  been  courageous,  more  than 
courageous,  heroic.  That  was  enough.  He  would 
only  aggravate  the  harm,  by  going  on !  And  what  use 
could  he  be?  I  pretended  to  be  convinced — the 
idea  was  not  at  all  a  startling  one  at  that  time — that 
the  war  was  drawing  to  a  close.  A  few  weeks  more,  one 
or  two  more  successes,  and  there  would  be  nothing 
astonishing  in  talking  about  peace. 


276  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  displayed  real  warmth.  I  felt  a  growing  sympathy 
and  admiration  for  him,  and  his  superb  moral  energy. 
And  he  was  no  superhuman  hero.  How  near  to  us 
that  sign  of  weakness  brought  him — that  thermometer 
consulted  each  hour  on  the  progress  of  his  illness! 

My  pleading  seemed  to  have  shaken  his  resolution, 
but  his  eyes  were  lowered. 

"Dreher,  tell  me  candidly.  You're  a  good  soldier 
— what  would  you  do  in  my  place?" 

I  a  good  soldier !  The  irony  of  it !  Was  I  fated  to 
wear  this  halo?  I  who,  I  swear,  would  not  have  hesi- 
tated to  make  use  of  the  slightest  pretext  for  adjourn- 
ment !  I  had  to  assure  De  Valpic  that  I  might  have 
acted  like  he  had.  .  .  .  Yes,  at  the  beginning  I  should 
have  left  in  a  burst  of  generosity.  But,  at  this  point 
I  should  realise  the  folly  of  persisting  in  it. 

He  was  silent,  and  looked  serious,  his  gaze  fixed  on 
the  ground,  his  fingers  twisting  some  pieces  of  straw. 

"You  must  think  that  I  set  great  store  by  my 
skin,"  he  said. 

He  dreaded,  with  the  susceptibility  of  a  proud  heart, 
of  having  gone  down  in  my  estimation. 

"Oh,  rot!"  I  said.  "Who  doesn't?  And  I  bet  it's 
chiefly  on  your  people's  account,  your  mother's  ..." 

"Poor  mother!  She  had  already  bought  the 
thank-offering  which  we  were  to  take  to  St.  Peter's  at 
Rome  next  spring. " 

Oh !  so  they  were  devout  believers.  An  old  Roman 
Catholic  family  of  course!  It  was  not  surprising. 

"And  then  ..."  he  continued. 

He  reddened. 

"  I  was  engaged  to  be  married,  when  I  fell  ill  ... 
and  she  would  not  let  me  set  her  free,  she  was  waiting 
for  me  .  . " 


De  Valpic  277 

That  was  all  he  said.  Why  did  this  last  confidence 
stir  me  more  than  all  the  rest  ?  Why  did  I  get  up  and 
put  an  end  to  the  conversation? 

"Well,  my  dear  chap,  that's  only  an  added  reason 
for  getting  fit  again.  It  would  be  stupid  to  make  a 
mess  of  your  whole  future.  Look  here,  I  .shall  be  on 
duty  tomorrow.  I'll  put  you  on  the  sick  report,  and 
you  can  be  off  back  to  your  home,  with  the  esteem 
of  every  one  of  us,  and  .  .  .  my  friendship." 

I  went  out,  and  wandered  about  round  the  farm 
for  a  long  time.  I  was  moved  by  a  profound  pity.  I 
could  not  shake  off  the  thought  of  this  poor  unfortu- 
nate. To  have  nothing  left  to  learn  about  his  illness, 
at  his  age,  which  was  my  age,  to  go  in  terror  of 
death,  to  feel  oneself  being  drawn  towards  it!  ... 
Then  I  was  moved  to  pity  for  myself,  for  us  all.  Were 
we  not  all  under  the  shadow  of  death,  faced  with 
tragic  ends  ?  Alas !  When  life  was  sweet  and  smiled 
on  us  with  her  store  of  fresh  beauties.  , 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DARK  HOURS 

I  HAD  persuaded  De  Valpic  to  report  sick.  Then 
destiny  stepped  in.  We  started  again  that  same  night 
on  the  stroke  of  two  o'clock.  And  when  I  went  up  to 
him  during  the  first  halt  he  begged  me  to  strike  his 
name  off  the  list.  He  felt  much  better.  He  so  much 
wanted  to  see  the  continuation,  to  be  in  at  the  big 
victory. 

Guillaumin,  who  appeared  just  then,  asked  if  we 
were  far  from  the  frontier. 

De  Valpic  enlightened  him.  Rather  not!  And 
judging  by  the  direction  we  were  taking  we  should 
soon  be  in  that  part  of  Lorraine  which  had  been 
annexed. 

Good!  It  would  have  been  maddening  to  go  a 
long  way  round. 

We  reached  Etain,  where  we  had  a  warm  welcome, 
as  the  Bosches  had  not  returned  in  spite  of  their 
boasting.  We  only  went  straight  through  the  town. 

It  was  a  long  stage,  but  we  did  not  get  overtired  in 
this  mild  weather.  Milestone  succeeded  milestone. 
Metz:  43  km.  41,  40,  38.  ...  Guillaumin  was 
exultant : 

"A  mere  constitutional,  what?" 

And  Judsi : 

278 


Dark  Hours  279 

"We'll  be  sleepin'  in  their  bloomin'  country, 
to-morrow." 

Some  of  the  men  may  have  believed  it.  I  thought 
it  only  right  to  moderate  the  enthusiasm. 

"Oh  Metz!  We  haven't  got  there  yet.  The  siege 
is  sure  to  be  ghastly!" 

The  lieutenant  who  was  passing,  chaffed  me: 

"Dreher,  as  pessimistic  as  usual?  He'll  never 
believe  we're  getting  on,  until  he's  in  Berlin." 

We  went  into  quarters  at  Buxy.  Shortly  after 
midnight  there  was  an  alarm.  The  artillery  which 
we  had  not  heard  for  some  days  was  talking  again. 
As  old  stagers  we  had  missed  the  noise,  it  cheered  us 
up. 

But  we  grumbled  when,  having  been  called  up  and 
paraded  in  the  Church  Square,  we  were  kept  hanging 
about  and  freezing  for  an  hour  or  more.  The  men 
"groused,"  and  wanted  to  know  why  they  couldn't 
be  left  to  sleep  in  peace. 

A  lot  of  them  wanted  to  "get  down  to  it"  again, 
and  we  had  hard  work  to  prevent  them.  A  certain 
number  sloped  off  in  the  dark.  Each  platoon  lost  a 
few  who  never  turned  up  again. 

Suddenly  there  was  an  uproar  and  crush  at  the 
other  end  of  the  Square.  We  had  to  spread  ourselves 
to  keep  order.  Playoust  went  to  see  what  was  up, 
leaving  his  half-section  to  take  care  of  itself,  with  the 
natural  consequence  that  it  disbanded.  He  came 
back,  raising  his  hands,  with  awful  tales  of  the  whole 
populace  fleeing  before  the  invaders!  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done!  This  time  the  Bosches  were 
coming  in  dense  masses,  ravaging  and  setting  fire  to 
everything! 

A  group  was  formed  round  him.     The  men  listened 


280  Ordeal  by  Fire 

anxiously.  He  pulled  a  face.  Was  he  rotting,  or 
speaking  the  truth?  We  never  thought  of  interrupt- 
ing. However  someone  did  take  it  upon  himself.  It 
was  De  Valpic,  whom  no  one  had  counted  on. 

' '  That'll  do,  Play  oust !     No  tomfoolery ! ' ' 

The  other  was  quite  taken  aback.  Guillaumin 
and  I  saw  the  danger,  and  went  to  the  rescue,  turning 
his  tales  to  ridicule.  He  tried  to  back  out  of  it.  The 
men  were  reassured,  and  began  to  laugh,  and  our  own 
confidence  was  strengthened  by  it  too. 

Yes,  but  what  were  we  waiting  for  here?  For 
orders,  always  orders!  They  were  delayed  for  a  good 
while  longer,  and  when  they  did  arrive,  dumbfounded 
us !  We  were  to  fall  back  on  Etain. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  obey,  so  we 
retraced  our  steps  along  the  road  we  had  followed  so 
gaily  the  day  before.  Dissimulation  was  no  longer 
possible.  We  caught  up  and  mingled  with  the  sad 
troops  of  fugitives.  As  long  as  the  darkness  lasted, 
we  only  half -realised  what  it  meant.  But  what  a 
ghastly  vision  of  distress  the  daybreak  brought  us! 

A  dismal  procession  of  women,  children,  and  old 
men,  many  of  them  on  foot,  laden  with  packages 
and  bags,  or  pulling  and  pushing  wheelbarrows  and 
hand-carts — the  others  huddled  pele-mele  in  con- 
veyances of  all  ages,  shapes,  and  sizes,  drawn  by  oxen, 
donkeys,  and  dogs.  The  whole  populace,  as  Playoust 
had  said,  people  hurrying  along,  elbowing  their  way, 
getting  hung  up,  and  delayed.  Their  heads  were 
hanging,  and  they  did  not  answer  the  stream  of 
questions  which  burst  from  our  ranks.  Babies' 
tears,  and  mothers'  sighs.  Every  other  minute  a 
cyclist,  or  a  staff  car  cleared  a  way  for  itself,  tooting 
and  cursing.  .  .  .  And  I  remember  an  old,  a  very 


Dark  Hours  281 

old  peasant,  perched  on  a  big  tilted  cart  brandishing 
his  pitch-fork  and  shouting  to  us,  as  he  pointed 
in  the  opposite  direction: 

"That's  where  they  be,  you  slackers!" 

I  was  glad  when,  by  eight  o'clock,  we  had  out- 
distanced the  gloomy  horde,  by  our  regular  pace. 
But  a  long  halt  on  the  outskirts  of  Etain  condemned 
us  to  being  caught  up  again  by  the  mournful  stream 
which  flowed  all  day. 

In  the  evening  we  set  off  again,  and  once  more 
went  through  the  little  town.  How  it  had  changed 
since  the  day  before ! 

Consternation  reigned. 

We  asked: 

"What's  happening?" 

"They  are  there!"  was  the  reply. 

"There!"  One  would  have  thought  they  meant 
a  hundred  yards  away!  The  inhabitants  were  turn- 
ing out.  I  can  see  a  well-dressed  old  woman,  in 
mourning,  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  her  house, 
loading  a  waggon — her  maid  was  helping  her — with 
a  confused  medley  of  furniture,  ornaments,  clothes. 

"  You  needn't  be  in  such  a  bloomin'  hurry,  Mother, " 
shouted  Judsi;  "can't  you  see  we're  here!" 

"  You  won't  stop  them, "  she  retorted. 

"Oh,  steady  on!" 

She  raised  her  voice  till  it  became  a  shriek: 

"You  won't  stop  them,  I  tell  you!  It's  just  like  it 
was  in  1870!" 

She  raised  her. gaunt  arm,  her  piercing  voice  carried 
well. 

"Old  witch!"  growled  Guillaumin. 

We  passed  on,  but  could  hear  her  apostrophising 
the  platoons  and  companies  behind  us : 


282  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"You  won't  stop  them!" 

Her  monotonous  imprecation  possessed  our  minds 
for  a  long  time. 

The  night  fell,  but  we  marched  on  and  on.  What 
a  day's  march  this  was,  too.  Having  had  a  meal 
we  managed  to  hold  out.  We  advanced  without 
thinking  and  yet  what  extraordinary  sights  we 
came  across.  The  enormous  column  of  fugitives 
was  trailing  along  this  roadway  too.  This  time  we 
were  going  up-stream,  pushing  northwards  from 
Etain. 

But  what  were  these  soldiers  scattered  among  the 
heart-breaking  band.  The  moon  was  beginning  to 
shine.  We  caught  sight  of  uniforms,  at  first  isolated, 
then  in  groups — all  the  troops  mixed,  and  the  ranks, 
too,  apparently.  .  .  .  The  strange  thing  was  that  it 
never  occurred  to  us  to  ask  what  they  were  all  doing 
or  where  they  were  going.  ...  A  few  details  only 
struck  us.  Why  so  many  foot-sloggers  on  horseback  ? 
This  problem  worried  Guillaumin.  He  sounded  me 
several  times. 

"Mounted  scouts,  do  you  think?" 

I  answered  drowsily: 

"Of  course!" 

We  advanced  in  silence,  mechanically  keeping  our 
intervals,  our  columns  of  four.  No  more  peasants, 
and  only  an  infinitesimal  number  of  civilians  drifted 
down-stream  now.  The  crowd  was  swelling  though. 
Transports  and  teams  followed  each  other,  rolling 
along,  slipping  and  sliding.  They  were  all  military- 
limbered  waggons,  forage  waggons,  ambulance  wag- 
gons, munition  waggons,  a  sutler's  van.  Battery  after 
battery — an  extraordinary  state  of  confusion.  Here 
were  mud-crushers  whipping  horses,  some  of  which 


Dark  Hours  283 

fell,  there  hussars  on  foot,  dragging  their  worn-out 
beasts  along. 

We  passed  companies  lying  in  the  shade  of  the 
ditch,  and  envied  them.  There  had  been  no  halt  for 
us  for  two  hours  at  least.  We  had  just  climbed  a  hill ; 
I  was  marching  with  half-closed  eyes.  Guillaumin 
nudged  me: 

' '  Heavens  above ! ' ' 

I  opened  my  eyes.  A  large  stretch  of  country  lay 
before  us,  a  dark  undulating  plain  enamelled  with 
monstrous  glares. 

I  turned  towards  my  companion. 

"Villages!"  he  murmured. 

Burning!  That  woke  us  up.  We  slowed  down 
bewildered. 

Bouillon  said: 

"Pore  wretches,  that's  w'y  they  was  doin'  a  bolt!" 

I  counted  the  fires.  Two  to  the  right  of  the  road, 
one  of  which  seemed  quite  near,  and  had  high  flames 
shooting  up,  which  cast  a  glow  all  round.  Three  to 
the  left,  and  right  in  front  of  us  at  the  axis  of  our 
march,  a  huge  conflagration. 

Spincourt?     I  had  heard  that  name. 

The  guns  were  growling  sullenly.  I  tried  to  work, 
myself  up  to  a  generous  pitch  of  fury.  These  hamlets 
in  flame,  this  blood-stained  earth,  was  my  France,  my 
Lorraine ! 

But  I  was  like  a  disconnected  electric  current. 

We  were  told  to  lie  down  in  the  ditch  where  we 
slept.  But  not  for  long.  We  were  made  to  get  up 
and  retire  a  little,  and  lie  down  again — we  slept  once 
more — then  we  returned  to  our  first  site.  We  obeyed 
without  grousing,  and  this  time  the  rest  was  more 
worth  having.  We  dozed  until  daybreak. 


204  Ordeal  by  Fire 

The  defilade  along  the  white  road  continued.  How 
many  officers  and  men,  with  horror  and  despair  at 
their  hearts,  did  we  meet  that  August  dawn  ?  Hcnriot 
came  to  find  us.  lie  was  tortured  with  suspense  at 
last.  What  were  all  these  people  doing?  We  shook 
our  heads,  hesitating  to  pronounce  an  opinion.  It  all 
passed  as  in  a  dream.  Silent,  preoccupied  phantoms 
who  seemed  to  be  hastening  towards  some  goal.  .  .  . 

Now,  however,  some  were  to  be  seen  whose  pace 
v/as  less  rapid,  and  who  did  not  detest  being  looked 
at — men  who  had  been  wounded,  only  slightly  for  the 
most  part — who  seemed  to  be  saying,  "We  have  done 
our  bit!" 

A  few  of  us  ventured  to  question  them.  Oh,  what 
replies  we  got.  A  snare!  A  shambles!  There  were 
too  many  Huns!  Each  man  claimed  to  be  the  only 
one  left  of  his  battalion  or  regiment. 

A  battalion  sergeant-major,  hit  in  the  foot,  gave  us 
a  graphic  account.  "  The  Boschcs  were  coming  out  of 
a  wood,  our  75*3  loosed  off  a  belt  at  them,  and  made 
pretty  good  shooting  too.  You  ought  to  have  seen 
the  blighters  dance!  Y/c  were  under  shelter,  not  far 
off,  enjoying  ourselves  enormously.  They  were  blown 
up  and  fell  in  little  pieces.  Platoon  after  platoon 
cut  up.  Others  followed  them,  to  be  met  with  the 
same  fate.  More  still — until  at  the  end  of  an  hour, 
there  was  a  thick  rampart  of  dead  bodies  all  along 
the  edge  of  the  wood.  But  new  lots  kept  on  coming  up 
and  crossing  the  obstacle,  others  shoving  them  on 
from  behind.  Our  guns  were  beginning  to  stop  talk- 
ing— not  enough  shells.  And  the  grey  swarm  slipped 
through  into  the  plain.  Suddenly  we  were  threat- 
ened and  attacked  and  overwhelmed.  What  could 
we  do  ?  Retire !  We  ran  for  our  lives . ' ' 


Dark  Hours  285 

Hcnriot  ground  his  teeth,  and  muttered: 

"  No,  no,  not  that. " 

"You'll  soon  sec!"  said  the  other. 

He  saluted,  and  went  on  his  way  limping. 

Other  accounts  were  in  a  different  key.  There  was 
often  a  question  of  a  defensive  taken  by  us.  We 
advanced,  and  lay  down  and  fired.  Everything  was 
going  well,  but  then  suddenly  the  hostile  machine 
guns  were  unmasked.  Ran,  ran,  ran,  ran.  The  fam- 
ous crackle  went  on  and  on,  mowing  our  lines  down 
like  corn.  No  use  being  plucky !  \7hat  could  we  do  ? 
(That  was  the  everlasting  refrain.)  Escape!  Never 
to  return  again. 

Some  badly  wounded  men  appeared  supported  by 
three  or  four  comrades  who  made  use  of  the  excuse 
to  escape.  There  were  very  few  orderlies  and 
stretcher-bearers.  One  heard  nothing  but  complaints, 
for  the  most  part  unjust,  of  the  army  medical  corps. 
Guillaumin  undertook  to  see  a  Zouave,  who  had  just 
come  a  cropper,  to  the  neighbouring  dressing  station, 
lie  came  back  disgusted.  A  major  had  grossly 
insulted  him: 

"Oh,  go  to  the  devil!     Your  pal's  done  for!" 

A  certain  number,  who  were  dragging  themselves 
along  in  a  sorry  state,  found  the  strength  to  exhort  us, 
with  a  melodramatic  gesture,  to  avenge  them. 

Others  pitied  us  : 

"Poor  lads.     You  don't  know  what  it  is!" 

"You  think  not!"  retorted  Bouguet.  "We  had  a 
taste  of  it  at  Mangicnnes!" 

"Pooh!"  The  others  snorted  with  contempt. 
"Mangiennes!"  Did  we  think  that  counted! 

Some  gunners,  black  with  powder,  who  were 
squatting  in  a  cart,  shook  their  fists  at  the  foot-sloggers. 


286  Ordeal  by  Fire 

The  latter,  absolutely  broken  down,  and  drunk  with 
rage,  returned  their  invectives.  They  were  just  oni 
the  point  of  pulling  out  their  bayonets.  Our  com-' 
pany  commander,  who  had  witnessed  the  scene,  seized 
the  most  rabid  by  the  collar.  His  tone  and  rank 
overawed  them. 

An  old  sergeant,  with  touches  of  grey  on  his  temples, 
followed,  holding  his  cap  in  his  hand,  and  repeating 
in  a  singsong  voice: 

"Stick  to  your  packs,  lads!" 

It  was  broad  daylight  now.  All  our  poilus  were  up, 
taking  in  every  detail  of  the  show. 

Will  you  believe  that  in  the  end  not  one  of  us  was 
seriously  demoralised.  Warnings  and  narratives  left 
us  rather  sceptical.  «  We  even  felt  an  uncharitable 
tendency  to  rag  survivors  of  the  furnace.  Their 
hasty  gait,  their  burlesque  accoutrements!  Above 
all  each  tragic  assurance:  "I'm  the  only  one  left  of  the 

X ,"  raised  storms  of  laughter.  We  had  seen 

dozens  and  hundreds  of  bearers  of  that  device  march 
past !  Judsi  exclaimed : 

"Don't  cry  about  it,  old  chap!  Your  chums  are 
waiting  for  you  in  Paris!" 

I  believe  that  at  the  bottom  of  our  hearts  each  one 
of  us  felt  naively  convinced  that  our  arrival  would 
put  everything  right.  .  .  . 

The  realisation  that  we  were  witnessing  a  rout  did 
however  penetrate  my  consciousness  at  last,  though 
still  only  in  a  vague  way.  Vaguely  too  I  dreaded  lest 
our  energy  should  suffer  by  it. 

I  was  delighted  when  we  got  orders,  about  six 
o'clock,  to  leave  the  high  road.  We  went  across 
country  for  not  more  than  four  or  five  hundred 
yards. 


Dark  Hours  287 

Some  trenches  dug  there  appeared  before  us,  as  if 
by  chance. 

A  French  dirigible,  the  Fleurus,  passed  high  above 
our  heads,  and  seemed,  I  do  not  quite  know  why,  a 
happy  omen. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
SPINCOURT 

HEAVEN  knows  whether  we  expected  to  have  to 
charge  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  that  inter- 
minable day.  The  captain  and  the  subaltern  had 
warned  us.  The  cannonade  raged  in  front  of  us  and 
all  round  us.  The  German  fire  was  concentrated 
against  a  village  below  us,  on  our  right.  If  we  were 
occupying  it,  what  losses  it  would  mean  to  us!  To 
begin  with  we  could  see  each  explosion  and  the 
resultant  crumbling  of  the  buildings.  Towards 
mid-day  a  thick  pall  of  smoke  rose  and  shrouded 
everything. 

The  fusillade  and  the  machine-guns  joined  in  the 
concert.  Who  would  guess  what  they  reminded  me 
of?  The  mock  symphony  with  which  Miquelhad 
amused  at  the  Globe  Cafe. 

It  will  be  seen  that  I  was  far  from  feeling  the  same 
enervation  as  I  had  the  other  week.  I  had  become 
a  fatalist.  .  .  .  We  knew  all  about  being  under 
fire.  We  had  already  been  through  it. 

I  should  certainly  have  been  badly  bored  without 
Guillaumin's  precious  and  almost  continual  society. 
We  began  by  discussing  the  situation  at  length.  He 
maintained  that  it  was  not  serious. 

He  passed  on  some  of  his  serenity  to  me.  His  eyes 
shone  when  he  said : 

288 


Spincourt  289 

"And  our  poilus,  what!" 

"Admirable!" 

He  added: 

"What  a  fine  race  they  are!" 

I  wondered  whether  he  was  speaking  of  the  French 
or  the  Beaucerons. 

What  should  he  do  a  little  later  on,  but  set  about 
extolling  the  treasures  lying  dormant  at  the  heart  of 
these  soldiers. 

" Most  of  them  are  married!  They  nearly  all  have 
kids!  They  never  stop  thinking  of  those  who  have 
stayed  behind — of  their  family.  That  supports 
them.  It's  a  case  of  morale!" 

"  Steady  on !     Don't  exaggerate ! " 

They  were  good  fellows,  the  majority,  I  admitted, 
and  fond  of  their  families,  but  the  chief  point  about 
them  was  their  resignation  and  passivity.  A  worthy 
herd! 

He  insisted. 

"I  assure  you  that  they  have  their  own  personality 
and  feelings,  and  often  a  very  generous  share  of  them. 
They  are  certainly  no  phrase-makers;  it  is  even  very 
difficult  to  get  them  to  talk.  They  mistrust  you  and 
themselves.  You  would  think  that  they  realised  that 
they  would  spoil  their  feelings  by  trying  to  express 
them  in  their  peasant  jargon." 

"Well?" 

"Look  how  they  find  a  way  of  writing  every  or 
almost  every  day!  Some  of  the  men  in  the  platoon 
have  asked  me  to  write  the  addresses,  so  that  they 
should  be  readable.  Others,  even,  to  wield  the  pen 
while  they  dictated  the  text.  Oh,  just  dull  common- 
place formulas,  but  what  a  tender  longing  in  them  to 
reassure  and  cheer.  That  all  declare,  whatever 

19 


290  Ordeal  by  Fire 

happens,  that  they  are  resting,  far  away  from  the 
Bosches,  that  everything  is  going  excellently.  '  Don't 
you  worry!1  is  what  they  say.  What  philosophy!" 

"And  I'll  quote  some  examples  of  delicacy;  for  in- 
stance, your  Corporal,  Donnadieu,  who  was  hit.  ..." 

I  opened  my  mouth  to  tell  him  of  the  man's  trick,  a 
villainy  which  had  remained  unknown. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "I've  got  a  man  from  his 
part  of  the  world,  from  Neuville.  He  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  wife,  who  is  just  starting  a  new  baby,  to  tell  her 
that  her  husband  had  been  pinked — in  case  he  had 
not  been  able  to  let  her  know — but  that  it  was  nothing 
serious,  and  that  he  would  keep  her  informed!" 

Guillaumin  now  described  the  arrival  of  the 
baggage-master,  in  the  farmyard  the  other  day  (I 
had  missed  this  scene),  and  the  distribution  of  the 
letters  and  cards.  Some  of  them  had  wept.  Others 
hid  themselves  to  kiss  the  humble  note-paper. 

What  a  singular  state  of  mind !  I  considered  these 
men  around  me  lying  about  like  a  lot  of  animals,  their 
filthy  faces,  and  obtuse  foreheads  and  dull  looks. 
Bouillon,  GaudeYeaux,  Judsi,  did  they  dream?  Yes. 
.  .  .  Perhaps  there  were  visions  of  children  and  wives 
wandering  behind  the  brute-like  masks!  For  the 
first  time  I  was  drawn  to  them  by  a  brotherly  instinct. 

I  hazarded:  "And  yet  it  must  be  sad  to  leave  some 
one  behind.  ..." 

That  started  Guillaumin  off;  he  was  in  an  eloquent 
mood.  He  recognised  the  agonising  character  of  these 
wars,  which  involved  in  the  struggle,  not  mercenaries, 
as  in  olden  days,  nor  even  soldiers  by  profession, 
volunteers  free  of  all  ties,  but  the  living  substance  of 
the  nations,  this  youth  incapable  of  breaking  the 
chains  of  blood  and  of  love  at  parting.  For  each 


Spincourt  291 

man  in  danger  here,  how  many  alarms  there  would 
be  yonder  in  the  hearts  of  wives  and  mothers! 
What  reverberation  of  despair  involved  in  each 
agony ! 

But  also  what  consolation  to  feel  that  one  was  not 
fighting  uniquely  for  pay  or  for  glory,  but  for  the 
safety  of  one's  country !  For  what  was  one's  country 
but  places  and  people,  all  that  one  held  dear  ?  Woman 
above  everything !  Woman !  All  that  was  contained 
in  that  word!  The  sublime  exchange  of  encourage- 
ment. Betrothed  and  wives,  they  all  understood  their 
role  equally  well.  This  cause  was  theirs.  They  had 
sobbed  at  the  departure  of  their  loved  ones,  but  most 
of  them  had  made  no  effort  to  keep  them,  but  had  only 
prayed  Heaven  to  bring  them  back  victorious. 

He  warmed  to  his  subject.  I  listened,  and  approved. 
What  a  noble  character  he  was,  and  what  an  hour  in 
which  to  work  upon  these  thoughts !  The  din  of  the 
battle  redoubled.  We  caught  sight  of  some  wounded 
not  very  far  away  dragging  themselves  to  the  high 
road.  Henriot  signed  to  us.  Shells  were  falling  on  a 
little  wood  less  than  a  kilometre  away  from  us.  We 
were  going  to  be  engaged.  I  paid  homage  to  a  dear 
vision  within  me.  .  .  . 

Guillaumin  cited  some  examples:  Poor  little  Frd- 
mont.  He  had  talked  to  him  a  long  time,  the  day 
before  Mangiennes,  about  Franchise,  his  sweet  Fran- 
c,oise.  It  was  to  her  that  he  offered  all  the  privation 
and  weariness,  for  her  sake  that  he  gave  proof  of  such  a 
confident,  charming  spirit.  And  De  Valpic !  Guillau- 
min suspected  him  of  holding  out  even  when  ill,  in  the 
touching  and  feverish  longing  to  prove  his  valiance 
to  someone.  .  .  . 

He  suddenly  lowered  his  voice: 


292  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"And  you,  Michel  .  .  .  whom  are  you  fighting  for?" 

My  heart  melted.  How  tactfully  and  ingeniously 
my  friend  had  led  round  to  the  subject.  I  burned  to 
reply  to  this  chaste  invitation  by  an  avowal,  to  confess 
to  him  that  for  me  too,  toil  and  suffering  were  allevi- 
ated ...  to  tell  him  a  tale  of  some  romance  or  other 
with  this  girl  as  heroine.  Alas!  I  restrained  myself 
in  time.  It  would  have  been  a  tale  indeed — to  lie 
just  at  the  moment  when  the  need  of  candour  was 
devouring  me.  Could  I  tell  him  what  there  was  to 
tell  ?  Unhappy  wretch !  There  was  nothing !  What 
was  there  between  her  and  me?  Nothing.  Good 
God,  nothing!  The  pity  of  it!  A  holiday  friendship, 
an  exchange  of  post-cards,  that  was  all.  ...  It  was 
true  that  for  the  last  few  days  my  imagination  had 
been  indulging  in  dangerous  flights  of  fancy.  .  .  . 
"What  an  awakening  I  was  preparing  for  myself.  By 
what  right  did  I  think  .  .  .  that  someone  else  was 
being  inebriated  at  the  same  time  by  a  twin  exaltation. 
It  would  have  needed  a  miracle  and  there  was  nothing 
to  suggest  that !  Had  my  letter  arrived  ?  If  so  would 
she  not  have  been  astonished,  and  indeed  shocked — not 
to  mention  the  people  with  her — at  my  having  written 
in  a  closed  envelope?  Should  I  ever  receive  a  reply? 

So  I  could  do  nothing  but  murmur  in  an  offhand 
tone: 

"  Bah !    A  flirt  here  and  there ! ' ' 

I  suddenly  wondered  whether  Guillaumin  had  not 
asked  me,  as  it  often  happens,  solely  in  order  to  be 
asked  himself.  Did  he  want  to  open  his  heart  to  me 
about  some  secret  fondness?  At  the  sight  of  his 
ugliness  I  thought:  "Could  any  one  possibly  love 
him?"  But  I  was  annoyed  with  myself  for  this 
reflection. 


Spincourt  293 

" And  what  about  you ?"     I  said. 

He  smiled,  without  a  trace  of  sadness  or  forced 
merriment. 

"Oh,  with  a  mug  like  mine!  No,  there's  only  one 
woman  with  whom  I  count  for  anything,  and  that's 
my  sister.  But  for  her  sake,  it  would  annoy  me  to  go 
under!" 

It  was  the  second  time  that  I  had  heard  him  allude 
to  his  sister.  I  questioned  him,  and  he  told  me  she 
was  called  Louise,  and  was  twenty-five  years  old. 
They  had  lived  together  since  their  mother's  death. 
She  gave  piano  lessons. 

"You'll  have  to  get  her  married,"  I  said. 

He  shook  his  head  gently : 

"She  is  as  ugly  .  .  .  as  I  am!" 

Hour  after  hour  went  by,  without  bringing  any- 
thing worse  than  our  inaction.  We  were  inclined  to 
become  pessimistic.  A  sinister  rumour  spread,  at 
one  point — Ought  we  to  believe  it? — Yes,  Laraque 
the  connecting  file,  who  had  taken  refuge  with  us  for  a 
minute,  confirmed  the  frightful  mistake.  Our  divi- 
sional cavalry  had  ventured  outside  our  lines,  and  got 
into  the  line  of  fire  from  our  batteries.  A  captain  in 
the  observation  post  had  tried  distractedly  to  tele- 
phone but  just  then  the  line  had  been  cut  and  communi- 
cations interrupted.  Pandemonium.  Our  batteries 
had  the  troopers  marked,  found  their  range,  and  soon 
decimated  them.  They  had  been  seen  galloping 
madly  in  every  direction,  forming  into  bunches,  and 
ending  by  flying  towards  the  enemy's  trenches,  where 
they  were  met  by  grape-shot.  The  captain  had  gone 
off  his  head,  the  signaller  who  was  responsible  had 
been  executed — not  that  it  undid  the  damage ! 


294  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Laraque  left  us.  We  were  crushed  by  his  recital. 
That  was  a  most  gloomy  part  of  the  proceedings. 
The  big  "coal-boxes"  (quite  recently  christened)  were 
beginning  to  pour  down  on  all  sides  of  our  line  raising 
heavy  black  clouds.  A  fusillade  crackled,  a  little  way 
off.  Some  of  our  companies  were  engaged,  so  they 
said.  Our  turn  seemed  to  have  come — we  should 
bring  only  deadened  wills  to  the  impact.  .  .  . 

And  then  suddenly,  just  as  at  Mangiennes,  the  fall- 
ing dusk  took  us  by  surprise.  The  call  to ' '  Cease  fire' ' 
went.  The  extraordinary  thing  was  that  both  sides 
Appeared  to  obey  it.  The  uproar  suddenly  decreased. 

Laraque  passed  again  bearing  better  news.  First 
of  all — he  laughed — the  horrible  tale  of  our  cavalry 
having  been  annihilated  by  our  75*3  .  .  .  well,  it  had 
been  entirely  contradicted !  Our  guns  had  fired  on  the 
Uhlans  all  right,  the  plain  was  strewn  with  their  bodies ! 
Then  that  village,  Houdelancourt,  which  I  have  de- 
scribed as  having  been  battered  by  the  German  artillery 
ever  since  the  morning — an  officer  who  had  come 
from  there  had  given  the  exact  total  of  casualties :  six 
wounded,  not  one  more  than  that!  Pure  waste  of 
powder ! 

We  hastened  to  pass  on  the  good  news  to  the  men. 
The  day  ended,  on  the  whole,  on  a  more  favourable 
note.     Our  comrades  had  held  out,  and  we  had  not 
been  needed.     Nothing  to  eat?    We  were  accustomed 
to  that  .  .  .  the  usual  thing  on  evenings  after  a  battle. 
Lamalou  tasted  some  raw  beetroot,  pulled  up  in  a 
neighbouring  field.     Everyone  was  convinced  that  we- 
should  sleep  where  we  were.     But. we  were  to  have  a 
surprise.     When  it  got  dark,  the  order  came  to  aban-- 
don  the  trench,  and  fall  back  on  the  high  road.        •   : 


Spincourt  295 

That  was  a  gloomy  crossing.  All  the  wounded 
were  gathering  on  this  side  in  the  hope  of  getting  first- 
aid.  Many  of  them  fell  on  the  way,  some  dead,  others 
exhausted,  begging  for  a  drink.  There  were  sobs,  and 
calls  of  "Mother!"  We  brushed  past  these  unfortu- 
nates, strongly  tempted  to  stop  and  help  them,  but  we 
were  forbidden  to  break  ranks !  There  was  growing 
indignation,  for  after  all,  where  in  thunder  had  our 
stretcher-bearers  got  to? 

From  the  high  road,  we  could  see  endless  dots  of  light 
moving  about  and  crossing  each  other  in  the  dusk  of 
the  plain.     The  Bosches  collecting  their  wounded,  De ' 
Valpic  informed  me. 

"There's  organisation  for  you!"  I  said,  not  without 
bitterness. 

"Their  qualities  against  our  qualities!" 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  WAR   BEGINS 

WHAT  was  to  be  done  with  us?  We  were  not  left 
long  in  doubt.  .  .  .  With  our  packs  on  our  backs, 
we  set  off. 

Henriot  was  very  much  depressed.  A  cavalry 
sergeant  whom  he  had  just  met  had  spoken  to  him  of  a 
general  falling-back  of  the  troops  supporting  us  on 
our  right.  We  immediately  formed  a  salient,  likely  to 
be  cut  off. 

But  Guillaumin  joined  us. 

"Tommyrot!  Why  we're  just  about  to  surround 
them  on  the  left. " 

He  had  got  the  tip  from  our  friend  Dagomert,  the 
motor-cyclist. 

The  column  moved  off.     We  marched  all  night. 

Nobody  was  very  clear  as  to  what  direction  we  were 
taking.  We  were  not  moving  towards  Etain.  There 
was  no  question  of  a  defeat.  We  were  going  of  our 
own  free  will.  There  were  regular  halts,  and  com- 
paratively good  order  was  kept.  Everyone  was  fully 
convinced  that  we  were  carrying  out  a  wily  manoeuvre. 
We  were  tickled,  in  advance,  by  the  idea  of  the 
Bosches'  surprise  when  they  saw  us  appear  just 
where  they  least  expected  us ! 

The  long  halt  took  place  at  daybreak,  when  coffee 
296 


The  War  Begins  297 

was  distributed.  According  to  the  lieutenant  we  were 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Pillon  and  Billy,  where  we 
had  fought  the  other  week.  A  considerable  recoil, 
no  doubt,  but  we  had  left  the  enemy  a  long  way 
behind. 

The  fact  that  the  division  was  assembled  on  this 
tableland  was  once  more  the  signal  for  troublesome 
attention  from  a  Taube,  which  dropped  some  bombs, 
and  two  star  shells  without  doing  any  damage. 

De  Valpic  told  me  that  he  feared  we  might  be 
obliged  to  fall  back  on  the  Meuse. 

"What  makes  you  think  that  ? " 

"Various  things." 

He  added: 

"Our  object  is  simply  to  delay  them,  I  think.  The 
north  is  where  the  game  will  be  lost  or  won!" 

He  had  a  fit  of  coughing.     Henriot  appeared. 

"Would  you  believe  it!  The  general  turned  up, 
and  hauled  the  colonel  over  the  coals.  He  declares 
that  we  ought  not  to  have  left  the  trenches  we  were 
holding  last  night ! " 

"Oh,  rot!" 

"And  that  we've  got  to  go  back!" 

"Nonsense!" 

Yes.  When  the  news  got  about  it  called  forth 
anger,  cold  at  first — If  they  didn't  know  what  they 
wanted  .  .  .  Then  the  men  grew  heated.  A  wave 
of  rage,  and  indeed  opposition,  surged  through  them. 
We  ourselves  did  not  quite  escape  it. 

Luckily,  there  was  a  diversion,  in  the  shape  of  a  cart 
which  drove  up.  Everyone  crowded  round.  The 
baggage-master!  His  horse  was  foundered.  He  had 
got  mail-bags  of  letters  and  parcels  which  he  had 
collected  at  Charny,  and  shouted  to  us : 


298  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"  I've  been  chasing  you  for  the  last  three  days!" 

Guillaumin  took  possession  of  our  bundle,  and, 
mounted  on  a  heap  of  flints,  began  the  distribution. 

A  sea  of  humans  surrounded  him,  faces  stretched 
forward  feverishly,  arms  raised  tirelessly —  De  Valpic 
in  the  front  row  between  Bouillon  and  Humel. 

I  had  been  pushed  forward.  What  did  I  expect? 
A  line  from  my  father  when  he  heard  the  terrible  news  ? 
Hm!  He  would  hardly  have  got  mine.  No.  I 
expected  nothing.  One  by  one  the  names  escaped: 
GaudeYeaux,  Descroix,  Lieutenant  Henriot.  Com- 
rades answered  to  a  certain  number  of  them. 

"Missing!     Killed!" 

Brief  words  which  froze. 

I  suddenly  felt  as  if  I'd  had  a  blow  on  the  head. 

"Dreher!"  shouted  Guillaumin,  looking  round  for 
me. 

Lamalou  handed  me  a  letter.  My  eyes  dimmed,  my 
head  swam.  That  writing  ...  I  freed  myself  from 
the  crush  round  me.  I  fled,  half  demented.  I 
pinched,  and  weighed  the  envelope.  How  light  and 
yet  how  heavy  it  was!  I  just  missed  charging  into 
the  captain  who  was  also  hanging  about  waiting.  .  .  . 
I  went  twenty,  fifty,  yards,  then  threw  myself  down  in 
a  field,  at  the  foot  of  an  apple-tree. 

My  heart  was  still  beating  a  mad  measure,  and  I 
could  hardly  get  my  breath.  I  hesitated  for  a  long 
time  before  tearing  the  thin  envelope,  then  slowly 
and  cautiously  pulled  out  the  double  sheet  which  I 
fingered  and  turned  over.  .  .  .  That  stamp  too  .  .  . 
Yes,  yes,  I  knew  it!  But  I  was  impatient  to  revel  in 
the  happy  certainty :  I  flew  to  the  signature. 

Jeannine!  Jeannine!  I  shouted  the  name  aloud 
in  a  transport  of  delight.  Then  I  hurriedly  glanced 


The  War  Begins  299 

through  the  first  page.  .  .  .  And  instantly  I  under- 
stood that  Happiness  was  descending  upon  me.  .  .  . 

As  if  afraid  of  so  much  joy,  I  hid  myself,  so  to  speak, 
from  my  ecstasy  for  a  few  seconds  behind  such  reflec- 
tions as:  "The  post  hasn't  lost  much  time!  "or"  That's 
what  you  might  call  a  real  letter! "  As  lovers  at  their 
meetings  cloak  the  emotion  of  the  first  moments  with 
trivial  remarks. 

Eight  pages!  She  had  written  eight  pages!  I  be- 
gan to  read  them  with  tender  deliberation.  One  long, 
dear  harmonious  poem!  Each  line  held  a  joy  in  store 
for  me;  at  each  page  I  turned  I  was  torn  betwixt  my 
regret  at  seeing  it  finished  and  my  rapture  that  the 
next  was  beginning.  I  could  repeat  those  sentences 
today  without  hesitating  over  a  single  syllable. 

She  was  writing,  she  said,  on  the  evening  of  August 
1 6th.  She  had  just  received  my  letter,  and  was 
answering  it  immediately.  She  wanted  to  be  the  first 
to  send  me  a  word  of  consolation  in  my  sorrow.  My 
sorrow?  I  did  not  quite  understand.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  there  was  no  reason  now  for  anything  but 
envy.  Then  I  reddened.  Had  I  not  told  her  of  my 
brother's  death,  on  that  card?  Ah  yes,  whether  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  I  had  calculated  on  arous- 
ing her  pity,  her  tenderness,  and  I  had  succeeded.  She 
professed  herself  overcome  with  emotion.  My  only 
brother!  Why — she  reproached  me  gently — had  I 
spoken  of  him  so  rarely  ?  She  could  see  from  the  tone 
of  my  letter  how  much  I  loved  him.  It  was  natural 
— the  only  being  in  the  world  fashioned  after  my 
likeness,  hardly  any  older  than  myself,  the  playmate  of 
my  childhood,  the  confidant  of  my  adolescence.  The 
same  profound  and  simple  reasons  which  my  rejuven- 
ated heart  had  suggested  to  me.  I  held  Victor 


300  Ordeal  by  Fire 

more  dear,  I  regretted  him  more  poignantly.  I 
blessed  Jeannine  for  having  guessed  my  brotherly 
affection.  In  my  card,  I  had  made  some  passing 
allusion  to  the  two  little  orphans.  Here  again  her 
thoughts  ran  hand-in-hand  with  mine;  she  tactfully 
confirmed  me  in  the  idea  of  my  duties. 

Oh!  with  what  sublime  trust,  with  what  exquisite 
and  ingenuous  sympathy  these  lines  overflowed. 
This  language,  so  new  between  us,  seemed  to  me  usual 
and  necessary.  Jeannine  made  some  reference  to  the 
footing  we  had  been  on  at  Ballaigues,  when  the 
tone  of  our  trifling  had  merely  been  one  of  playful 
courtesy.  She  appeared  to  apologise  for  the  disguise 
adopted  then.  Now  we  might  see  each  other  face  to 
face.  She  professed  her  friendship  for  me.  She  did 
not  hesitate  to  make  use  of  that  word,  so  delicious 
and  pure,  in  which  I  read  another,  essentially  the 
same,  but  more  magnificent  illuminating  the  entire 
universe ! 

I  had  not  a  shadow  of  doubt;  she  cannot  have  had 
either.  It  was  the  letter  of  a  fiancee.  What  surprised 
me  was  that  we  had  delayed  so  long,  before  seeing 
into  our  hearts.  Ever  since  my  departure,  and 
every  day  more  surely.was  not  the  vision  of  this  child 
the  only  one  which  at  the  approach  of  danger  consoled 
me  with  a  hope,  towards  whom,  in  the  hour  of  safety, 
my  mirth  rose  up  like  incense.  This  hearth  had 
ceased  long  since  to  smoulder  under  cinders;  powerful 
and  generous,  it  flung  its  ardent  flames  towards  the 
sky.  And  had  I  doubted,  Jeannine,  lest  my  passion 
should  not  be  reciprocated.  Could  I  not  summon  up 
a  certain  look  of  yours,  or  an  inflection  of  your  voice 
which  already  bore  witness  to  the  chaste  avowal. 
How  fervently  your  fingers  had  lingered  in  mine  at 


The  War  Begins  301 

parting.  We  had  been  consecrated  to  each  other  ever 
since  that  time.  The  present  was  less  surprising — child 
of  the  wondrous  past !  I  seemed  already  to  have  spelt 
out  these  pages,  upon  which  I  was  feasting,  in  the 
course  of  some  dream.  Their  enchantment,  as  adored 
memories,  was  doubled  for  me !  .  .  . 

The  end  of  the  missive  breathed  a  tenderness 
no  less  proud  or  strong.  Jeannine  knew  through 
the  communiques,  of  the  brilliant  affair  at  Mangiennes. 
She  guessed  that  I  had  taken  part  in  it,  that  I  was  not 
wounded — (No!  My  good  fortune  lent  me  too  great  a 
halo!) 

By  some  mysterious  intuition  she  ended  up  by  coun- 
selling me  to  bear  the  ill-fortune,  which  might  be  near 
at  hand,  courageously.  What  did  she  know  of 
it  ?  What  presentiment  had  she  ?  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  fate  of  returning  troops,  the  ruin  of  our  first 
hopes.  Still  distant  hypotheses!  And  then  it  would 
have  needed  greater  misfortunes  than  that  to  damp 
me.  I  was  filled  with  enthusiasm.  Guillaumin  had 
not  lied.  What  rapture  to  consecrate  myself  to  thee, 
to  thy  defence,  my  noble  France,  incarnate  in  a  young 
face!  .  .  . 

I  turned  my  steps  towards  my  section;  I  was  coming 
down  t Dearth,  returning  to  grim  reality.  .  .  . 

What  a  sight  met  my  eyes! 

The  piles  of  arms  had  been  broken  everywhere; 
yonder,  the  neighbouring  battalion  was  dispersing  in 
the  greatest  disorder;  our  lot,  disbanded  too,  were 
jostling  each  other  on  the  road.  A  regular  panic! 
Guillaumin,  bareheaded,  and  haggard  .  .  . 

"I  was  looking  for  you!"  he  shouted.  "What  do 
you  say  to  this?" 


3Q2  Ordeal  by  Fire 

' '  What  ?    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"They're  firing  on  us!" 

"Who?" 

Dragging  me  along,  he  gasped : 

"  I've  got  your  rifle  and  your  things.  Come  along. 
Come  along!" 

We  rushed  down. 

"Do  you  hear?" 

The  echoes  of  explosions. 

"The'Taube'?" 

"That  was  the  beggar  that  marked  us!  But  .  .  . 
they  talked  of  our  going  back  ...  I  don't  think! 
They're  close  on  our  heels  .  .  .  !  Their  artillery,  the 
'coal  boxes'!" 

He  pinched  my  arm  till  it  bled : 

"And  we've  been  flying  all  night!" 

I  buckled  on  my  pack,  in  a  dazed  way  as  we  ran 
along,  and  took  my  rifle  from  his.  Henriot  caught 
us  up: 

"They're  coming  up  from  the  south  too.  We're 
surrounded!" 

He  was  choking. 

Playoust  stopped  in  front  of  us  and  chucked  down 
his  pack  exclaiming : 

"  Wot's  the  use  o'  goin'  on  ?    We're  goners ! " 

Some  of  the  men  followed  his  example. 

"You  thundering  lunatic!"  I  shouted  to  him. 

Guillaumin  shook  his  fist  at  him.     I  shouted : 

"Keep  your  rifles,  lads!  The  war's  beginning  in 
earnest  now,  when  you've  got  to  fight  for  your  crops 
and  homes,  for  everything  that's  dear  to  you!" 

Two  or  three  men  who  had  dropped  their  arms 
picked  them  up.  We  reached  a  cross-road. 

Our  poilus  were  grouped  round  us. 


The  War  Begins  303 

"Fall  in,  No.  3  section." 

"Nicely  in  the  soup,  we  are!"  someone  exclaimed. 

' '  Possibly !  But  we'll  get  out  of  it  somehow.  Where 
there's  a  will,  there's  a  way!" 

They  looked  at  each  other  blankly.  Then  Judsi 
smacked  the  barrel  of  his  rifle  with  a  swagger. 

"So  the  blighters  think  they're  going  to  give  us  a 
doin'?  We'll  show  'em  wot's  wot!" 

I  could  have  hugged  him! 


PART  III 


305 


BOOK  VII 

August  2 $  th- September  2nd 


CHAPTER  I 

IN   RETREAT 

WHAT  memories  I  have  of  those  days  of  retreat  and 
disaster.  Days  when  not  only  Victory,  but  Hope, 
also,  hid  her  face!  Chance  and  destiny  and  logic 
were  so  many  forces  crushing  us.  Everything  was 
giving  way.  We  suffered  in  every  kind  of  way,  from 
hunger,  cold,  heat,  exhaustion,  moral  anguish,  lack 
of  news.  Virile  busy  days,  when  the  plan  of  salvation 
germinated  in  the  brain  of  our  leaders,  when  the  work 
of  redemption  was  accomplished  in  silence  in  the  heart 
of  each  man  and  the  nation  at  large.  Days,  I  should 
weep  not  to  have  spent  where  I  ought,  as  I  ought !  .  .  . 

That  afternoon,  first  of  all,  which  we  spent  wander- 
ing in  a  forest.  Surrounded?  We  were  not  far  from 
it.  The  men  were  well  aware  of  the  sentries  posted 
everywhere,  and  the  patrol  parties  sent  out  to  investi- 
gate in  every  direction. 

One  scene  stands  out  particularly  clearly  in  my 
memory.  Those  staff-officers  we  passed  as  I  was 
going  with  my  section  to  inspect  a  certain  issue.  The 

307 


308  Ordeal  by  Fire 

general  seated  on  the  edge  of  a  slope  with  his  head 
between  his  hands,  his  subordinates  standing  motion- 
less a  few  steps  away,  respecting  his  meditation.  A 
little  farther  on  were  the  orderlies,  holding  their 
horses  by  their  halters.  An  hour  later  as  we  were 
returning,  we  found  them  at  the  same  place,  and  in 
the  same  attitudes,  the  general  with  his  head  still  sunk 
in  his  hands,  his  aides-de-camp  silently  fixing  their 
eyes  on  him. 

A  petrified  tableau.  So  all  these  people  expected 
nothing  better  than  to  have  to  give  up  their  swords. 
I  thought  we  were  done  for,  but  forced  myself  to  dis- 
tract the  attention  of  my  companions. 

We  afterwards  learnt  that  during  the  twenty-four 
hours  there,  we  had,  in  high  places,  been  looked  upon 
as  taken,  and  coldly  struck  off  the  lists.  We  owed  our 
escape  solely  to  a  company  sergeant-major,  a  native 
of  that  part  of  the  country,  who,  having  made  careful 
inquiries  about  the  limits  of  the  hostile  advance,  went, 
that  evening,  to  find  the  general  in  charge  of  the 
division,  and  offered  himself  as  guide. 

It  was  our  last  chance.  We  followed  him.  The 
march  lasted  for  three  hours.  Only  a  small  number 
of  us  discerned  the  tragic  element  floating  about  us. 
The  men  complained  of  the  absence  of  halts.  The 
strictest  silence  had  been  imposed  upon  us,  we  even 
had  to  hold  the  sheaths  of  our  bayonets  in  our  hands. 
At  the  most  dangerous  point  some  palavering  in  under- 
tones, and  obstreperous  horse-play  went  on,  a  practical 
joke.  The  Bosches  no  doubt  were  tired  out;  their 
sentries  dead  tired !  A  few  shots  cracked  on  our  flanks. 
We  reached  Cremilly.  That  apparently  meant  that 
we  were  saved. 

For  one  day ! 


In  Retreat  309 

That  was  only  the  mild  beginning  of  our  trials. 
After  a  morning's  rest  we  started  again,  with  a  chari- 
table warning  that  we  should  have  to  keep  at  it  until 
nightfall.  We  had  to  keep  at  it  all  night  too,  and  the 
next  day.  ...  A  forced  march  of  thirty  hours,  the 
stiffest  in  the  campaign !  I  may  mention  further  that 
we  had  not  slept  or  had  a  bite  of  food  since  two  days 
before.  ...  A  miracle  of  human  endurance. 

As  long  as  it  was  light  I  vaguely  noticed  the  road  we 
covered.  The  noise  of  the  firing  was  growing  weaker. 
We  were  falling  back  on  the  Meuse,  as  De  Valpic  had 
predicted. 

Back  there  already!  I  lamented  so  much  lost 
territory.  This  thought  pained  me.  I  looked  with 
the  aching  heart  with  which  one  salutes  abandoned 
patrimony,  at  these  fields  and  valleys,  these  woods, 
which  I  examined  with  such  a  cold  and  detached 
gaze  a  few  weeks  ago.  Lorraine  was  actually  becom- 
ing dear  to  me!  I  began  to  realise  that  each  part 
of  the  world  has  its  own  particular  character.  .  .  . 
The  tender  green  of  these  pastures  which  not  even 
the  ardour  of  a  torrid  summer  had  been  able  to  alter ! 
The  calm  and  haughty  harmony  of  this  billowing 
ground  ...  I  was  seized  with  affection  for  this 
pensive  and  laborious  race  by  whose  property  the 
whole  of  the  French  lineage  is  enriched.  The  names 
recurred  to  me  of  authors-  born  in  these  parts,  who 
wove  their  noble  blossoms  for  our  literary  crown,  of 
painters  who  had  grown  up  and  erected  their  easels 
here,  attracted  by  the  enchantment  of  the  mist. 
And  all  that  belonged  there  of  our  history:  Va- 
rennes,  the  flight  of  Louis  XVI.,  the  romantic  episode 
en  the  threshold  of  a  troubled  and  magnificent  epopee ! 
.  ,  ,  Valmy,  Sedan  close  at  hand!  We  were,  as  I 


310  Ordeal  by  Fire 

•< 

have  said,  drawing  near  to  the  Meuse.  Fifteen  or 
twenty  miles  up-stream  lay  Domre'my  and  Vaucouleurs. 
Were  these  hamlets  full  of  sacred  memories  destined 
to  crumble  within  a  few  days  beneath  the  Teuton 
howitzers? 

And  if  we  had  to  retreat  still  farther!  My  gaze 
took  in  the  hills,  and  the  expanse  of  pale  sky.  Fortin's 
brutal  warning  recurred  to  my  mind.  "What  they 
needed  first  was  what  remained  to  us  of  Lorraine, 
Champagne,  and  the  Franche-Comte'  ..." 

My  heart  contracted.     I  murmured,  "No,  no!" 

Hours  and  hours  passed  by.  The  evening  fell. 
There  were  no  halts,  or  almost  none.  The  night  came 
down.  We  went  on  mechanically,  hour  after  hour, 
bowed  beneath  our  packs.  No  one  stayed  behind. 
Guillaumin  had  spread  the  report  that  the  Uhlans, 
pushing  on  behind  us,  butchered  all  the  stragglers — a 
superfluous  intimidation.  After  three  weeks  of  active 
service,  those  who  had  already  fallen  out  eliminated, 
these  classes  of  reserves  contained  nothing  but  unusu- 
ally good  soldiers  ...  no  more  sentiment  or  thought 
.  .  .  admirable  beasts  of  burden.  Shall  I  say  that  we 
slept  standing  up?  But  I  mean  it  quite  literally. 
Many  of  them  I  swear  were  snoring.  Every  other 
minute  one  got  one's  neighbour's  rifle  in  the  shoulder 
or  in  the  face :  not  that  it  woke  one  up  for  very  long. 
It  was  astonishing  that  there  were  no  serious  accidents. 
Had  we  crossed  the  Meuse?  Were  we  continuing  to 
skirt  it?  Guillaumin  was  talking  in  his  sleep.  At 
one  point  he  said  to  me : 

"We're  going  through  Verdun,  you  see?" 

I  raised  my  heavy  eyes  and  said : 

"Are  you  sure?" 


In  Retreat  31 1 

He  made  a  movement  with  his  head: 

"Look  at  these  two-storied  houses." 

They  were  the  trees  bordering  the  road.  I  had  not 
even  the  strength  to  smile.  At  dawn  an  artillery 
officer  galloped  along  the  column.  He  slowed  down 
on  a  level  with  us  and  asked : 

"Have  you  seen  him?  My  orderly!  He  must 
have  fallen  off  his  horse  on  to  the  road." 

The  men  nudged  and  questioned  each  other. 
Nobody,  no.  Nobody  had  seen  anything.  We  learnt, 
ten  minutes  later,  that  the  man  had  just  been  picked 
up  gasping  and  on  the  point  of  death,  a  kilometre 
behind  us.  The  whole  regiment  had  gone  over  his 
body  without  noticing  it. 

Farther  on — the  longing  to  sleep  had  left  me  since  it 
had  grown  light  again — I  witnessed  a  touching  scene. 

Henriot  looked  me  up  and  whispered : 

"I  say,  we  shall  pass  my  home!" 

I  was  interested. 

"AtGenicourt?" 

"Yes,  the  village  after  this  one." 

We  had  just  entered  Dieu.  The  lieutenant 
stayed  beside  me.  When,  on  leaving  the  village,  he 
saw  that  we  were  turning  to  the  right,  his  face  clouded 
over: 

"What  in  the  world  are  we  going  to  do  over  there!" 

We  were  crossing  the  river;  we  should  leave  Ge*ni- 
court  on  the  left ! 

"Do  you  think,  do  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  I 
might  ask  the  captain  .  .  .?" 

Ask  what?  For  permission  to  go  and  kiss  his 
mother. 

"Of  course!"  I  said. 

I  never  dreamt  that  it  would  be  refused. 


31-2  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  left  me,  but  soon  came  back : 

"The  captain  didn't  want  me  to.  He's  quite  right. 
Quite  right!" 

But  the  most  terrible  misery  was  depicted  on  his 
face.  He  continued : 

"And  do  you  know.  He  assures  me  that  it  would 
have  been  no  good,  that  the  village  must  be  evacuated 
because  .  .  .  because  it's  on  .  .  .  the  right  bank!" 

He  stopped  at  the  side  of  the  road. 

"Oh!  Dreher!  I  should  never  have  thought  that 
they  would  have  left  it,  that  they  would  ..." 

Ge'nicourt,  his  birthplace,  devoted  to  ruin,  to  the 
worst  ravages,  to  the  fate  of  those  wretched  villages 
whose  funeral  pyres  had  blazed  like  beacons  on  the 
horizon,  yesterday. 

"Come  along,  sir." 

He  followed  me  like  a  child,  adding: 

"You,  you  understand,  don't  you?  You  who  are  a 
Lorrain  too.  The  captain  told  me  that  over  there  in 
your  direction,  towards  Luneville,  we  have  had  to  retire 
too,  and  let  them  penetrate  into  our  territory.  ..." 

It  was  a  striking  coincidence — that  fact  that  he 
told  me.  I  had  had  a  presentiment  of  it.  All  night  I 
had  confusedly  turned  this  apprehension  over  in  my 
mind.  Ebermdnil.  Eberme'nil. 

How  often  had  I  not  repeated  to  myself  that  I  felt 
no  particular  attachment  to  this  hamlet  where  chance, 
and  chance  alone,  had  decreed  that  I  was  to  be  born ! 
I  had  not  set  foot  in  it  since  I  was  ten  years  old.  We 
only  kept  the  estate  out  of  affection  for  the  past.  Why 
did  I  suddenly  have  a  strikingly  clear  vision  of  the 
white  house  with  green  shutters,  the  big  fir  beneath 
whose  shade  the  table  was  often  laid?  I  called  to 
mind  other  scenes.  The  little  pond  where  we  always 


In  Retreat  313 

tried  to  catch  the  gold  fish — I  had  fallen  in  twice — the 
nursery  where  we  fought  with  Eureka  pistols,  the 
croquet  lawn,  where  mother  used  to  play  with  me 
against  father  and  Victor — Victor !  Mother !  0  dear 
shades !  Yonder  lay  my  childhood  dead,  with  the  van- 
ished beings.  This  part  of  the  world  was  for  me  a 
unique  centre  of  emotions.  I  made  a  vow  to  go  back 
there  and  soak  myself  with  its  melancholy  and  charm. 
But  a  cloud  intervened.  What  if  the  old  place  had 
been  sacked?  Perhaps  the  old  fir-tree  had  fallen! 
Revolted  at  the  thought,  I  felt  the  shock  of  an  individ- 
ual rancour.  My  heart  contracted.  We  should  see ! 


CHAPTER  II 
DARK  DAYS 

THAT  march  without  halt  or  respite  had  led  us  to 
the  neighbourhod  of  St.  Mihiel.  There  was  some 
talk  of  our  being  told  off  for  the  active  defence  of 
Toul.  But  the  next  day  found  us  reascending  toward 
the  north-east.  All  the  same  ground  to  cover  again. 
We  made  the  best  of  a  bad  job. 

We  passed  close  to  Genicourt  for  the  second  time. 
Henriot  made  no  more  requests,  but  his  gaze  lin- 
gered sadly  on  those  roofs  separated  from  us  by  the 
river;  and  from  that  day  a  secret  spring  seemed  to 
have  snapped  in  him. 

After  another  hard  day's  march  we  again  reached 
the  Meuse  which  we  had  left  behind  the  day  before,  in 
order  to  cut  south  of  Verdun. 

The  river  was  not  very  broad  at  this  point,  only 
twenty  yards  or  so,  nor  very  deep,  and  there  were 
numerous  fords.  The  night  was  falling.  The  liquid 
sheet  seemed  heavier  and  darker  than  usual.  Guillau- 
min  who  was  the  first  to  go  down  to  the  bank  shouted 
to  me: 

"I  say,  the  water's  red!" 

I  was  loath  to  believe  it;  and  yet  ...  I  joined 
him  and  plunged  my  hand  into  it,  and  then  drew  it 
out.  These  dark  stains — must  be  a  bloody  deposit! 
How  horrible!  I  hurriedly  wiped  my  hand  on  the 


Dark  Days  315 

grass.  The  rushes  washed  by  the  current  were  soiled 
in  a  like  manner.  Those  shapeless  masses  floating 
below  the  surface,  if  one  looked  hard,  turned  out  to  be 
corpses ! 

Had  there  been  fighting  on  these  banks?  No,  up- 
stream, we  learnt.  Furious  attempts  on  the  part  of 
the  Germans  to  force  this  important  piece  of  line. 
They  had  sustained  terrible  losses.  Their  bodies,  we 
were  told,  obstructed  the  course  of  the  river ;  it  could  be 
crossed  dry-shod. 

We  stayed  there  that  night  and  the  next  morning — 
a  repulsive  halting  place.  An  acrid  odour  rose  from 
this  charnel  stream. 

We  luckily  had  a  tale  of  victory  to  lull  us  to  sleep: 
the  enemy  shattering  themselves  against  the  obstacle ; 
artillerymen  filing  off  mad  with  joy  caressing  their 
guns.  One  of  their  captains  boasted  that  he  had 
demolished  more  than  six  thousand  Bosches  with  his 
four  batteries.  How  could  we  question  such  feats 
of  prowess  while  a  never-ending  stream  of  human 
relics  floated  past  on  the  stream  at  our  feet?  The 
best  proof  of  our  success  arrived  in  the  shape  of  an 
order  to  recross  the  Meuse  and  advance  again. 

A  few  miles  recovered!  I  greeted  with  a  friendly 
glance  the  lovely  hills  and  valleys  that  saw  us  again 
so  soon,  as  victors. 

We  entered  a  village  named  Hazaumont,  which  the 
Teuton  flood  had  submerged  barely  for  an  instant; 
and  stayed  there  all  day.  We  had  to  be  on  the  alert 
as  the  guns  were  thundering  in  the  neighbourhood, 
but  it  was  a  rest  for  mind  and  body  nevertheless. 

The  few  inhabitants  who  had  stayed  behind  ex- 
ploited the  situation.  I  still  laugh  when  I  think  of 


316  Ordeal  by  Fire 

the  old  woman  who  was  selling  her  bad  wine  at  four 
francs  a  bottle. 

Judsi,  when  he  learnt  the  price,  gaped  with  astonish- 
ment, opened  his  hands,  and  dropped  two  bottles 
which  he  had  seized.  There  was  a  resounding  crash! 
And  he  retired,  politely  saying: 

"Too  dear,  madam!" 

The  old  woman  uttered  piercing  shrieks  and  lodged 
a  complaint.  A  lot  of  good  it  did  her.  The  captain 
requisitioned  the  entire  contents  of  her  cellar,  at 
tenpence  a  bottle,  indiscriminately! 

We  might  once  more  have  been  at  manoeuvres.  We 
ate  and  drank,  and  got  a  good  afternoon's  nap;  what 
could  we  wish  for  more!  One  of  Guillaumin's  cor- 
porals found  a  way  of  hiring  himself  out  to  give  a  hand 
to  the  publican  in  the  village.  He  had  his  work 
cut  out  for  him,  dashing  out  from  the  tap-room  to 
the  tables  in  the  garden,  but  he  was  richly  rewarded 
for  his  pains,  in  the  evening,  by  the  great  pailful  of 
wine  which  he  brought  back  in  triumph. 

He  was  hailed  with  delight.  There  were  some 
abuses,  of  course.  Lamalou  was  heard  to  ask: 

"Any  one  got  an  empty  haversack?" 

He  disappeared  and  came  back  with  a  rabbit,  and  a 
chicken. 

The  Bosches  had  not  pillaged  much,  only  a  few 
houses.  I  won't  swear  to  it  that  certain  others  did 
not  suffer  by  our  doing.  There  were  complaints  by 
the  mayor,  and  an  inquiry;  they  spoke  of  a  thief 
caught  in  the  act. 

The  officers  in  command,  on  the  contrary,  closed 
their  eyes  to  the  orgies  and  drinking  parties.  Discip- 
line was  relaxed,  in  fact.  I  was  a  little  disquieted 
about  it,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that,  in  our  lot  at  all 


Dark  Days  317 

events,  the  men  kept  within  certain  limits.  It  is 
certain  that  they  were  feverishly  anxious  and  eager  to 
make  the  most  of  all  the  material  benefits,  which  they 
might  not  enjoy  for  very  much 'longer.  And  surely 
the  thought  that  a  lot  of  these  fine  lads  would  be  under 
the  ground  tomorrow  was  a  good  enough  excuse. 

The  place  stank  of  spies.  During  our  short  stay, 
several  were  discovered,  and  had  summary  justice  dealt 
out  to  them,  which  gave  rise  to  a  tendency  to  see  them 
everywhere.  Every  civilian  fell  under  suspicion ;  there 
were  repeated  disputes  between  soldiers  and  villagers 
— ill  usage  and  reprisals.  We  will  draw  a  veil  over  it ! 
It  was  sickening ! 

As  to  the  general  situation,  the  large  majority  never 
gave  it  a  thought,  and  we  others  still  knew  nothing. 

General  Pau  was  supposed  to  be  striking  a  knock- 
down blow  in  Belgium  while  Castelnau  on  the  other 
wing  was  pushing  on  the  invasion  of  Alsace.  A  superb 
enveloping  movement!  All  that  our  army  group  in 
the  centre,  which  served  as  a  pivot,  had  to  do,  was  to 
hold  out,  to  avoid  being  broken  through.  This  slight 
retirement,  on  our  part,  had  been  of  small  importance. 

But  matters  were  to  be  precipitated. 

The  same  evening  we  leave  Bethain  to  march 
northwards  towards  the  firing.  We  do  not  get  very 
far.  The  moment  our  advance  companies  enter  a 
village,  a  hail  of  "Black  Marias"  begins — there  are 
heavy  losses — we  retire  in  disorder — an  accomplice 
in  the  steeple  is  signalling  to  the  enemy.  We  have 
orders  to  shcot  him;  he  escapes.  A  deadly  halt  in  a 
field. 

And  suddenly  on  the  road  close  by  a  hullabaloo, 
a  rout.  That  stream  of  fugitives,  runaways,  and 
wounded.  We  know  all  about  that!  Spincourt  over 


3i 8  Ordeal  by  Fire 

again!  An  infallible  sign  of  defeat!  Surprise  and 
bitterness — once  more ! 

Some  battalions  marched  past  in  comparatively  good 
order,  troops  from  th'e  south,  who  had  fought  as  well 
as  any  of  the  others,  but  their  accents  and  black  beards 
tickled  our  sense  of  humour,  and  a  stupid  tale  got 
about  that  they  gave  way  without  fighting. 

Terrible  tidings  were  passed  along,  spread  by  the 
captain,  a  native  of  Tarascon,  I  imagine,  who  ran  up 
to  one  of  our  officers: 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  occupy  that  village. " 

"Impossible,  my  dear  fellow!" 

"How's  that?" 

"We've  just  come  from  there!  It's  raining 
bommmbs!" 

Our  halt  lasts  an  eternity.  The  firing  is  drawing 
nearer.  A  moonless  night.  We  hate  the  feeling  of 
passing  on  to  the  front,  without  having  heard  ourselves 
shout  to  any  one,  to  get  out  of  the  way — one  of  the 
rare  occasions  when  one  wishes  instinctively  to  retire. 
Not  far  behind  us,  we  felt,  was  the  Meuse.  Yes, 
there  we  could  make  a  stand ! 

The  village  we  entered  a  few  hours  ago  is  on  fire. 
The  stream  on  the  road  is  becoming  less  dense.  The 
report  once  more  spreads  that  we  are  cut  off,  or  at  all 
events  forgotten,  it  appears. 

Or  sacrificed?  The  colonel  warns  us  that  our 
division  has  orders  to  protect  the  retreat,  to  hold  out 
to  the  last  extremity .  That  revives  our  courage !  B  ut 
I  consider.  A  division  to  form  a  rear-guard?  How 
many  corps  were  there  crowded  there! 

They  at  last  decided  to  take  us  back.  The  v/an 
dawn — the  "coal-boxes"  beginning  again.  At  one 


Dark  Days  319 

point  their  crash  passes  so  low  above  our  heads  that  we 
should  like  to  bend  right  down  to  the  ground.  We  are 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  the  terrible  detonations. 
A  hundred  yards  from  us  a  platoon  of  the  23rd  bat- 
talion is  pounded  to  pieces — an  abominable  sight! 

We  have  the  strength  to  make  our  way  .  .  .  But 
the  lowlands  and  ditches  and  woods  are  running  over 
with  wounded;  and  men  who  have  come  to  the  end 
of  their  strength  succumbing  to  over-work  and  hunger. 
Mounted  police  scour  the  roads,  in  increasing  num- 
bers, and  beat  the  bushes,  shaking  men  by  the  collars 
who  seem  to  be  asleep,  but  sometimes  turn  out  to  be 
dead. 

Our  instructions  were  explicit.  By  midday  not 
one  of  our  men  was  to  be  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Meuse. 

At  this  point  my  recollections  of  places  and  dates 
become  rather  involved.  Three,  four  days  .  .  . 
What  happened?  We  march  and  march,  and  we 
fight.  But  there  are  no  long  engagements. 

We  expect  to  hold  each-  prepared  and  organised 
position.  No!  we  are  turned  and  overwhelmed. 
We  have  to  break  up,  pursued  by  hostile  projectiles. 
And  what  a  nightmare  the  Taubes  are.  They  harry 
you  hour  after  hour,  dropping  grenades  and  bombs, 
and  also  messages  which  we  have  neither  the  time  nor 
the  inclination  to  read.  Incredibly  daring  pilots 
descend  to  within  fifty  yards!  We  fire  on  them  in  a 
fury,  with  "Archibalds"  and  rifles  and  revolvers. 
All  in  vain!  Nothing  touches  them.  The  bird  flies 
off  ...  I've  seen  some  of  the  lads  exasperated  to 
such  a  pitch  that  they  began  to  throw  stones. 

The  line  of  the  Meuse  ?     Far  from  it !    We  could  not 


320  Ordeal  by  Fire 

hold  it  for  an  hour.     The  Germans  had  just  crossed  it 
at  Consenvoye  and  elsewhere. 

An  insane  circuit  began.  Souilly,  Montfaucon, 
Exermont,  Tailly — I  won't  be  answerable  for  the  order 
in  which  they  came. 

The  most  striking  episode  occurred  at  Beauclair. 

Some  Uhlans  were  said  to  be  resting  in  the  village. 
We  were  ordered  to  chase  them  out  of  it.  For  once 
in  a  way  our  artillery  prepared  the  way  for  us,  by 
peppering  it  for  a  good  hour.  Then  a  whistle  was 
blown — we  were  hanging  about  on  the  outskirts — "Fix 
bayonets !  Charge ! ' ' 

We  rushed  the  village,  marvelling,  in  spite  of  the 
preparation,  at  such  an  easy  success.  Then  we  saw 
that  the  enemy  had  been  warned  and  had  evacuated 
it  just  before  the  bombardment  had  begun.  The 
horrible  part  was  that  we  had  destroyed  this  village 
for  nothing,  nothing  at  all.  Not  a  house  was  left 
standing,  not  a  strip  of  wall  spared.  Some  of  the 
inhabitants,  some  women,  came  out  of  the  smoking 
remains.  They  had  taken  refuge  in  the  cellars  during 
the  devastating  cyclone, — many  of  them  had  been 
killed  there.  Mad  with  rancour,  among  the  ruins, 
they  hurled  taunts  at  us: 

"Ah.  It's  you!  It's  your  work,  is  it!  Even  the 
Bosches  are  better  than  you!" 

That  evening,  we  retired  again  after  severe  fighting. 
A  night  march,  in  zigzag  formation,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing bewilderment.    We  had  retired  too  quickly,  it 
seemed,  leaving  all  our  artillery  unsupported,  and  in 
the  greatest  danger. 

We  ourselves  were  surrounded,  so  it  was  said. 
This  time  it  was  really  serious!  We  were  assured 
that  the  situation  was  as  desperate  as  it  could  be. 


Dark  Days  321 

Our  colonel,  the  one  like  Dumeny,  had  got  a  splinter 
in  his  thigh.  The  new  one  collected  his  officers  and 
pointed  out  that  no  choice  was  left  but  to  surrender 
or  perish.  His  had  been  made  he  added,  tapping  his 
revolver.  (Henriot  was  my  authority  for  these  details .) 
Someone  or  other,  he  said,  had  gone  as  far  as  to  suggest 
cutting  up  the  colours  to  prevent  them  being  left  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Each  N.  C.  0.  and  each 
private  should  carry  away  a  shred. 

They  had  got  as  far  as  that!  And  then  a  young 
staff-captain  dropped  into  the  middle  of  them 
shouting ; 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  send  someone  to  relieve 
the  guns!" 

He  energetically  took  the  direction  of  the  operations 
into  his  own  hands.  A  certain  battalion  was  to  play  a 
certain  part!  Such-and-such  a  company  as  flankers. 
And  there  was  not  a  minute  to  be  lost ! 

He  was  a  born  leader !  We  would  have  followed  him 
wherever  he  chose. 

Our  counter-attack  was  successful,  and  enabled 
the  gunners  to  bring  their  batteries  and  ammunition 
waggons  back. 

There  was  talk,  the  same  day,  of  an  extensive 
advantage  obtained  in  our  neighbourhood.  We 
triumphantly  thought  we  had  done  with  these  retro- 
grade marches. 

No  such  luck!  At  night,  orders  came  as  usual  to 
beat  a  retreat.  We  were  entering  on  another  stage 
of  our  fantastic  itinerary.  A  flight — as  we  were 
being  pursued.  The  hamlets  of  Argonne  again 
burst  -*nto  flame  behind  us.  One  evening  twelve 
torches  could  be  counted  blazing  beneath  the  lowering 
sky.  .  .  . 
at 


322  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Astounding  rumours  began  to  spread.  The  most 
persistent,  but  also  the  one  which  found  the  least 
credence,  was  this : 

"Laon  and  La  Fere  invested!" 


CHAPTER  III 

STRENGTH   OF   MIND 

WOULD  it  be  a  surprise  to  hear  that  not  for  one 
instant  during  that  time  did  I  experience  the  faintest 
shadow  of  discouragement?  And  yet  I  did  not  shut 
my  eyes  to  the  truth.  I  did  not  in  the  least  disregard 
the  desperately  critical  element  in  our  position.  My 
steadfastness  arose,  I  believe,  from  the  deep-rooted 
conviction  that  if,  in  such  circumstances,  the  nation 
abandoned  the  least  iota  of  her  self-confidence,  all 
would  be  up  with  her  and  with  us.  I  was  conscious 
of  being  a  molecule  participating  in  the  whole.  The 
slightest  faltering  on  my  part  would  have  diminished 
the  strength  of  my  platoon,  of  my  company,  of  the 
whole  regiment.  In  the  same  way,  I  thought,  my 
energy  must  raise  it  and  reinforce  it.  And  besides,  my 
will  did  not  need  stiffening,  I  was  steeped  in  serene 
faith,  infinitely  more  convinced  of  our  final  success, 
all  through  this  retreat,  which  resembled  a  disaster, 
than  I  had  been  a  few  days  before,  when  I  kept  watch 
at  the  outposts  of  a  victorious  army.  "Just  wait  a 
little,"  I  repeated  to  myself  obstinately.  Our  adver- 
sary was  gaining  an  advantage,  driving  us  in  front  of 
him.  Very  well !  We  were  suffering,  and  we  should  suf- 
fer endless  ills, — especially  when  autumn  came  on, — 
desertions,  partial  mutinies  might  occur.  Everyone 
counted  on  some  terrible  epidemic.  There  would  be 
.  323 


324  Ordeal  by  Fire 

nothing  surprising  in  new  and  still  more  serious  defeats. 
Yes,  but  afterwards,  afterwards?  Afterwards,  I 
conceived  a  limit  to  our  misfortunes,  but  not  to  our 
resources.  I  discerned  in  myself,  in  us,  a  capacity  for 
resistance  against  which  the  effort  of  the  enemy  would 
spend  itself  in  vain  however  tenacious  it  might  be. 

To  what  must  I  attribute  the  expansion  of  my 
strength  of  mind?  I  asked  myself  then,  and  have 
considered  it  since. 

To  the  boon,  first  of  all,  of  being  descended  from 
that  sturdy  stock.  I  remembered  the  vitality  my 
mother  had  always  shown.  Had  she  not  nursed  me  at 
night  during  my  long  illnesses  for  three  weeks  at  a  time, 
without  neglecting  one  of  her  duties  during  the  day? 
And  my  father,  and  his  behaviour  from  one  end  to  the 
other  of  the  preceding  war!  Taken  prisoner  once, 
wounded  twice,  he  considered  the  armistice  shame- 
fully premature  after  six  months  of  incessant 
fighting. 

On  searching  my  memory,  I  did  not  fail  to  find 
indication  of  the  force  latent  in  me,  which  had  had  no 
opportunity  of  increasing  owing  to  the  paltry  conditions 
of  my  life  as  a  young  well-to-do  bourgeois.  That 
Rugby  semi-final  for  the  inter-school  championship, 
played  between  my  college  and  the  "Lilies  of  the  Val- 
ley" from  Bourdeaux.  Our  opponents,  favoured  by  the 
wind  and  sun,  had  kept  the  game  in  our  "twenty-five" 
nearly  all  the  first  half,  and  had  scored  four  tries  and 
two  goals.  That  meant  a  beating  for  us;  despair 
in  our  team.  I  can  see  myself  at  half-time,  ceasing  to 
suck  my  lemon  in  order  to  make  a  manly  speech  to  my 
fourteen  comrades.  In  the  second  half,  we  kicked  off, 
got  the  play  into  their  "twenty-five, "  and  in  our  turn, 
scored  two  tries,  the  second  of  which  was  converted. 


Strength  of  Mind  325 

We  could  not  have  gained  more  satisfaction  by  beat- 
ing them,  than  we  did  by  avoiding  a  humiliating 
defeat. 

Does  the  comparison  make  you  smile  ? 

But  I  belonged  to  a  generation  which  had  already 
profited  by  the  proud  lesson  of  sport.  I  had  pursued 
all  the  most  violent  athletics,  less  on  rational  than  on 
passionate  grounds,  and  for  the  delights  of  self-love 
which  bear  such  a  wonderful  attraction  for  youthful 
hearts.  I  had  run,  boxed,  and  swum.  I  had  been 
broken  into  the  games  where  the  individual  learns  to 
collaborate  unselfishly  with  his  partners.  I  bear 
witness  to  the  nobility  of  that  school.  Without  sus- 
pecting it  I  had  gained  a  moral  education  there.  One 
comes  out  tempered  for  any  struggle,  after  having  tried 
conclusions  with  rival  energies  over  and  over  again  in 
friendly  meetings. 

And  even  if  I  had  gained  nothing  but  the  bodily 
benefit ! 

The  play  of  my  muscles  and  organs  was  free  and 
healthy  and  unhampered.  Well  fed  as  we  were,  except 
on  one  or  two  occasions,  I  could  have  gone  to  the 
world's  end.  As  I  became  hardened,  I  no  longer  got  as 
tired  as  I  had  on  the  first  days.  I  lay  down  to  sleep, 
never  mind  where,  and  I  slept.  On  waking  up  all  I 
felt  was  a  suspicion  of  stiffness,  nothing  more.  The 
first  advance!  How  often  I  was  lucky  enough  to  be 
able  to  give  a  helping  hand  to  some  man,  by  carrying 
his  rifle  or  his  load  for  him  for  an  hour  or  two.  My" 
own  pack  sat  lightly  on  me,  seemed  to  have  become1 
part  of  me.  I  remember  how  distracted  I  was  one 
day— I  must  have  left  it  on  the  bank  just  now,  I 
exclaimed,  during  the  long  halt.  .  .'  I 

Guillaumin  saw  that  I  was  not  laughing,  it  was 'he 


326  Ordeal  by  Fire 

who  exploded:  My  pack?  It  had  been  plastered  on 
to  my  shoulders  the  whole  blessed  time ! 

Another  motive  for  my  strength  of  mind,  the  chief 
one,  was  my  correspondence. 

There  were  many  complaints  during  those  weeks, 
about  the  delay  in  the  postal  service.  With  us — I  can 
only  state  the  fact — it  worked  adequately,  no,  admir- 
ably. I  have  described  how  the  baggage-master 
caught  us  up,  the  day  after  "Spincourt. "  By  some 
knack,  or  lucky  chance,  we  saw  him  arrive  twice 
more  during  the  week,  trotting  cheerily  along  behind 
his  lean  mare.  He  was  a  good  sort,  and  related  his 
adventures,  which  others  might  have  called  feats  of 
prowess.  How  many  times  had  he  just  missed 
being  killed,  wounded,  or  taken  prisoner!  These  were 
reliable  accounts:  his  cart  had  been  riddled,  and  the 
splinter  of  a  shell  had  pulverised  one  of  his  post-bags 
one  day.  Neither  he  nor  his  beast  had  ever  been 
touched. 

The  second  mail  brought  me  a  letter  from  my  father. 
He  knew  at  last;  he  had  had  official  information.  It 
was  a  grave  and  sorrowful  missive.  His  affection  and 
hope  were  centred  entirely  upon  me,  he  assured  me.  In 
his  manlike  way  of  expressing  himself,  where  there  was 
not  one  unnecessary  word,  I  discovered  traces  of 
an  attachment  which  I  had  formerly  refused  to 
recognise. 

And  this  added  page — was  from  the  poor  little 
widow.  After  leaving  St.  Mihiel,  which  was  threat- 
ened, she  reached  Paris  just  in  time  to  be  greeted  by 
the  abominable  news.  She  was  bearing  up  in  the 
face  of  the  terrible  shock;  I  had  dreaded  collapse  and 
prostration  for  her.  And  now  no  one  could  help 
admiring  her,  shining  with  resolute  determination  in 


Strength  of  Mind  327 

her  affliction — two  little  children  to  bring  up — the 
sense  of  her  duties !  How  I  should  have  liked  to  go  to 
her  and  take  her  hands  and  say:  "I  mourn  with  you, 
my  sister.  If  I  live,  dispose  of  me  as  you  will ! " 

What  a  transport  of  delight  I  was  thrown  into  by 
these  appearances  of  the  baggage-master.  Jeannine, 
with  divine  consideration,  had  written  to  me  again 
without  waiting  for  my  reply,  which  might  be  delayed, 
she  said,  by  so  many  chances.  In  future  she  intended 
to  write  me  a  line  almost  every  day.  A  line!  That 
meant  long,  affectionate  epistles.  Two  reached  me  at 
once,  then  three  together,  the  second  time. 

With  a  modesty  to  which  I  mutely  paid  homage, 
Jeannine  avoided  all  allusions  to  the  new  state  of 
affairs  which  had  actually  risen  between  us.  But  I 
read  her  passionate  infatuation  between  the  lines, 
in  the  burning  contents  of  these  letters.  Scraps 
of  them  still  float  in  my  memory.  She  spoke  of  herself 
and  of  me,  of  my  people  and  her  people — our  people. 
She  touched  lightly  upon  every  subject,  which  at  that 
time  affected  us  like  so  many  millions  of  our  brothers. 
Did  she  not  recall  as  if  by  chance  various  of  those  high 
problems  which  had  formed  the  subject  of  our  smiling 
discussions  at  Ballaigues — self-sacrifice,  abnegation, 
disinterested  attachment  to  such  and  such  an  idea  or 
being?  Did  I  deign  now  to  bow  before  this  sublime 
foolishness,  she  wondered  ?  She  did  not  insist  upon  it. 
She  knew  that  she  had  easily  carried  her  point.  I 
developed  our  motives  of  inspiration,  and  returned 
them  to  her.  They  were  all  secretly  contained — and 
she  felt  it,  the  sweet  creature — in  this  one,  we  loved 
each  other. 

Love!     I  dared  to  look  this  prodigious  word  in  the 


328  Ordeal  by  Fire 

face.  The  vision  of  promised  joy  kept  me  up.  When 
once  the  war  was  over,  the  country  saved, — in  her  eyes 
and  in  mine,  everything  else  must  give  way  to  that — I 
pictured  our  reunion,  our  brief  betrothal,  and  the  day, 
oh  God,  the  day  when  we  should  kneel  side  by  side — 
What  could  it  matter  whatever  separated  me  from 
that  time?  Toil  and  suffering,  the  spilling  of  my 
blood,  what  was  it  all?  A  moderate  advance  when 
such  wondrous  radiance  rilled  the  horizon. 

I  had  not  given  up  my  habit  of  analysis.  An  atti- 
tude of  mind  which  stays  with  one,  I  believe,  till  death, 
when  once  adopted.  I  sometimes  wondered  at  my 
youthful  enthusiasm.  Was  I  a  captive?  Caught  up 
in  the  whirlwind?  I  who  had  thought  myself  safely 
in  shelter.  I  asked  myself  whether  this  ardour 
were  not  partially  fictitious  or  at  all  events  ephemeral  ? 
How  unlike  me  it  was — I,  who  was  so  much  imbued 
with  the  idea  of  my  cold-bloodedness  and  stoicism — to 
become  infatuated  about  this  child,  and  that  too  when 
I  was  no  longer  in  her  presence,  when  I  had  been  able 
to  live  beside  her  for  weeks  without  being  in  the  least 
perturbed  or  inflamed.  Such  reflections  drew  me  as 
the  bushes  on  the  river-bank  draw  an  abandoned  boat 
drifting  with  the  current.  It  was  only  a  brief  fluctua- 
tion. I  gave  one  or  two  powerful  strokes  with  the 
oars,  and  regained  the  open  river,  where  the  rapid 
stream  carried  me  away. 

It  was  true,  I  admitted,  that  a  month  or  two  ago, 
when  I  had  been  face  to  face  with  her,  I  was  incapable 
of  love,  or  of  any  exalted  feelings.  But  was  I  alive  at 
that  time?  No.  No.  A  secret  affliction  robbed  my 
destiny  of  all  true  zest.  Let  me  revel  today  in  the 
supreme  instinct  which  was  reviving  in  me !  Was  this 
instinct  folly  ?  It  was  quite  possible.  Especially  this 


Strength  of  Mind  329 

passion  which  had  suddenly  blossomed  in  such  ab- 
normal circumstances?  But  what  was  there  more 
beautiful  than  a  beautiful  folly?  If,  after  having  been 
hurled,  by  the  brutality  of  circumstances,  from  my 
quietude  into  the  sphere  where  the  fate  of  primitive 
beings  was  under  discussion — what  more  natural  than 
that  I  should  be  born  anew  to  their  fire  and  rapture. 
What  delight  there  was  in  recurring  to  an  artless  frame 
of  mind,  what  pride  at  the  same  time  in  retaining  a 
certain  elevation  of  thought.  Love  could  no  longer 
mean  for  me  mere  desire.  I  magnificently  mingled 
metaphysical  reveries  with  it.  I  flattered  myself  on 
having  attained  perfect  poise — on  being  philosopher 
enough  to  give  my  fever  an  august  flavour — man 
enough  to  quiver  at  it. 

In  my  replies  to  Jeannine  I  was  as  reserved  as  she 
was  as  regarded  our  deepest  feelings.  Like  her  I 
poured  myself  out  in  passionate  meditations  on  the 
present  circumstances.  Any  treatment  seemed  to  suit 
them,  from  arch  frivolity  to  lyricism.  I,  who  formerly 
used  to  be  so  particular  about  each  letter  being 
written  in  an  accurate,  and  indeed  elegant  style,  now 
scribbled  away  at  page  after  page,  just  as  they  occurred 
tome.  I  did  not  even  read  them  over !  A  soldier  to 
his  fiancde!  The  slips  must  take  care  of  themselves. 
And  I  took  a  kind  of  pride  in  baring  my  soul,  which  no 
longer  hid  any  evil  recesses.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  IV. 
OH,  MY  FRIENDS! 

IN  whom  should  I  confide  the  secret  which  made  my 
heart  leap? 

Could  I  hesitate  when  Guillaumin  was  beside  me! 

Lively,  hearty,  and  full  of  go,  he  was  an  incompar- 
able companion.  He  fought  as  if  he  had  been  born  to 
it.  ...  He  was  in  for  it,  and  would  stick  to  it.  He 
had  thought  it  would  only  be  a  short  business.  He 
realised  that  it  would  be  a  long  one.  Couldn't  be 
helped !  "Why  grouse  about  it  ?  He  preferred  to  save 
his  breath.  Not  for  an  instant  did  he  dream  that  we 
could  negotiate  for  peace  as  losers.  One  felt  that  he 
would  march  on  patiently  counting  always  on  revenge, 
sooner  or  later,  as  long  as  he  had  the  legs  to  march  on; 
that  he  would  fight  as  long  as  he  had  the  arms  to  fight 
with. 

How  fond  I  was  of  him !  How  worthy  he  was  of  my 
confidence ! 

I  hesitated,  all  the  same,  for  a  long  time.  It  was  the 
effect  of  my  rooted  suspicion  of  my  fellow-beings — I 
swear  that  I  lacked  the  courage.  One  day,  however, 
when  we  were  marching — he  was  talking  to  me  about 
his  sister  who  was  a  musician — I  made  some  allusion 
to  Jeannine,  also  a  musician.  He  looked  at  me,  and 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  it,  I  so  much  wanted  him  to 
know.  But  my  tone  played  me  false  in  the  most 

330 


Oh,  My  Friends  !  331 

bizarre  manner,  cloaking  itself  in  false  irony.  I  seemed 
to  be  giving  an  account  of  a  casual  flirtation.  What 
would  this  unimportant  intrigue  end  in  ?  I  pretended 
to  have  no  idea  of  it.  And  the  word,  the  delicious 
word,  which  was  ready  to  blossom  on  my  lips,  was 
never  pronounced. 

Hypocritical  trifling!  How  I  cursed  it,  on  looking 
back  at  it.  How  thankful  I  was  to  Claude  for  net 
adopting  the  same  frivolous  tone  in  his  turn.  If  he 
had  done  so,  that  would  have  been  the  end  of  it.  I 
should  have  retired  within  myself,  embittered  by  the 
idea  that  I  had  been  misunderstood  or,  worse  still,  we 
should  have  continued  to  make  meaningless  remarks 
on  the  subject,  which  would  have  done  violence  to  my 
love.  Instead  of  which  Guillaumin  guessed  that  I  was, 
in  spite  of  myself,  the  victim  of  an  absurd  timidity;  it 
was  he  who,  by  insensible  degrees  directed  our  conver- 
sation into  a  more  cordial  and  sincere  channel.  He 
made  his  interest  clear  to  me.  My  confidence  touched 
him,  he  refused  to  treat  it  as  an  insignificant  senti- 
ment. Then  I  took  the  final  step,  and  knew  the  sweet- 
ness of  self-abandonment. 

Without  a  blush,  since  I  was  sure  that  no  chaffing 
threatened  me,  I  was  able  to  describe  to  him  in  detail 
the  progress  of  the  sweet  seduction  right  up  to  the 
glorious  ecstasy.  He  listened  to  me  unwearyingly, 
encouraging  me  by  a  strange  word  or  nod.  The  next 
day  he  gave  me  an  opening,  which  I  had  vaguely 
desired,  to  return  to  my  subject.  He  smiled  at  me, 
when  my  next  letters  came,  and  his  eyes  shone.  His 
friendship  performed  the  miracle  of  making  him 
happy  because  I  was. 

De  Valpic  had  stayed  with  us.     I  had  pressed  him 


332  Ordeal  by  Fire 

in  vain  to  report  sick.  Guillaumin,  and  the  captain 
too  had  urged  him  to.  Circumstances  robbed  our 
exhortation  of  all  efficacy.  He  said  repeatedly  that  it 
was  a  time  when  the  country  claimed  the  determined 
effort  of  all  her  sons.  If  I  insisted,  he  cut  me  short 
with: 

"Dreher,  you  wouldn't  desert  us!  ..." 

So  he  went  on,  and  refused  to  give  in.  He  valiantly 
accomplished  the  terrible  marches,  and  bore  the  sleep- 
less nights,  and  the  days  without  rest.  We  sometimes 
found  him  sitting  down  panting,  during  the  halts, 
without  even  the  strength  to  wipe  his  forehead.  His 
appearance  then  would  terrify  us,  his  hollow  eyes, 
and  flaming  cheek-bones.  In  a  few  days  his  features 
had  become  peaked,  his  face  emaciated;  his  poor 
shoulders  were  bowed.  One  would  never  have  ex- 
pected him  to  go  down  hill  so  rapidly.  His  cough 
was  growing  more  rasping.  He  expectorated  freely, 
but  always — with  touching  consideration — into  a  little 
spittoon,  concealed  until  then  in  his  pack.  V/e  hardly 
dared  to  ask  him  how  he  was.  He  had  asked  me 
lightly  not  to  refer  to  the  subject  again. 

"I  am  better,  I  assure  you,  since  I've  given  up 
thinking  about  it!" 

"But  what  about  your  temperature?" 

"I'm  not  feverish  now.  I've  thrown  away  my 
thermometer.  I  ought  to  have  begun  by  doing 
that!" 

He  did  not  let  a  day  go  by  without  writing,  any 
more  than  I  did.  He  was  always  on  the  lookout 
for  ways  of  despatching  his  letters,  and  was  usually 
obliging  enough  to  allow  me  to  profit  by  them. 

I  was  totally  ignorant  of  anything  concerning  the 
object  of  his  love,  her  name  and  age  and  everything. 


Oh,  My  Friends  !  333 


The  one  question  he  had  pronounced  had  been  enough 
to  make  me  understand  his  devotion  for  her.  She 
too,  I  guessed,  must  love  him,  if  she  was  willing  to 
wait  till  he  recovered. 

I  used  to  wonder  about  this  girl — a  stranger  to  me. 
I  imagined  her  as  the  bearer  of  a  great  name,  endowed 
with  beauty  and  every  fascination.  What  a  couple 
they  would  make!  Alas,  and  that  would  never  be! 
Would  she  recognise  her  fiance",  when  the  war  gave 
him  back  to  her,  battered,  and  at  the  end  of  his 
strength,  destined  to  fade  away?  I  pictured  him  on  a 
long  chair  shivering  and  pulling  his  rug  over  his  knees. 
The  idea  obsessed  me.  Like  imaginations  must  harry 
him  ceaselessly.  With  a  vague  eye,  and  a  far-away 
look  he  must  often  be  thinking  of  her,  whom  he  would 
see  again — if  things  were  looked  at  in  their  best  light — 
only  for  a  moment. 

The  closest  intimacy  had  sprung  up  between  him  and 
Guillaumin  and  me. 

De  Valpic  was  in  the  first  platoon  with  Humel, 
Descroix  and  Playoust,  and  suffered  more  than  we  did 
from  contact  with  that  "lot."  They  disliked  him, 
and  reproached  him  with  being  stuck  up,  and  sly, — 
he  who  was  so  simple,  and  straightforward!  They 
did  him  bad  turns,  and  arranged  once  or  twice — we 
messed  in  platoons  now — to  defraud  him  of  his  share, 
on  the  pretext  that  he  was  late.  Playoust  who  had 
wormed  his  way  into  the  sergeant-major's  good  graces 
got  the  "viscount"  warned  for  several  tiring  fatigues. 
At  Be*thaincourt,  for  instance, the  unfortunate  crea- 
ture was  left  behind  to  wait  for  the  certificate  of  gocd 
conduct.  The  Mayor,  having  finally  refused,  after 
long  disputes,  he  caught  us  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  after  a  forced  march.  We  did  not  get  wind  of 


334  Ordeal  by  Fire 

this  bullying  at  once.  We  did  not  see  much  of  the 
Humel-Playoust  set,  and  De  Valpic  hated  making 
complaints;  he  would  have  preferred  to  see  peace 
established,  even  if  it  were  to  his  own  detriment. 

Everyday,  however,  we  monopolised  him  more  and 
more.  He  joined  our  mess  which  Gaufreteau  had 
agreed  to  manage,  ever  since  Spincourt,  and  which 
aroused  everyone's  envy,  so  savory  were  the  fumes 
which  rose  from  it,  even  in  the  most  tragic  hours,  and 
amid  the  dearth  of  all  resources. 

We  three  lost  no  time  in  finding  each  other  during 
long  halts,  and  at  the  end  of  the  day's  marching. 
When  we  were  not  too  much  worn  out  we  had  long  con- 
fabs. The  strange  thing  was  that  at  those  times  De 
Valpic  was  the  one  of  us  who  was  always  the  most 
animated.  He  no  longer  slipped  away!  We  wanted 
him  to  spare  himself,  but  he,  apologising  for  his  fits 
of  coughing,  led  us  on  in  spite  of  ourselves,  lavishly  dis- 
playing the  riches  of  his  unusual  mind.  Was  it  with  a 
view  to  diverting  his  thoughts,  or  did  he  realise  that  his 
enthusiasm  was  a  source  of  inspiration  to  us?  What  a 
marvellous  conversationalist  he  was!  I  was  dumb- 
founded by  the  extent  of  his  knowledge,  the  region  of 
his  curiosity.  Our  discussions  often  turned  upon  the 
issue  of  the  present  campaign.  How  great  was  his 
optimism  based  on  facts,  not  on  illusions !  There  was 
no  pretension  about  it,  by  the  way;  it  was  all  said  in  a 
playful  friendly  tone,  which  did  not  recoil  on  occasion 
before  a  crude  or,  shall  we  say,  military  expression 
emphasised  by  his  rare  smile. 

We  expressed  our  opinions,  flattering,  or  the  reverse, 
on  everyone  about  us:  poilus,  N.  C.  O's,  and  our 
leaders.  What  intuition  and  penetration  De  Valpic 
showed.  How  shrewdly  he  judged  poor  Henriot,  for 


Oh,  My  Friends  !  335 

instance,  who  was  completely  demoralised,  and, 
because  he  was  ashamed  of  it,  retired  into  his  shell, 
and  shunned  all  society. 

"A  Lorrain,  and  an  elementary  schoolmaster!" 

He  developed  his  idea,  showing  us  that  these 
frontier  people  were  more  chauvinistic  than  us,  appar- 
ently, more  warlike,  and  more  nervous.  It  was  they 
who  had  suffered  most  from  the  invasion  in  1870,  so 
that  there  was  nothing  more  natural  than  that  they 
should  flag  quickly  at  the  arrival  of  a  second  disaster. 
They  were  always  the  first  to  suffer.  And  how  easy 
it  was  to  get  into  the  habit  of  thinking  of  the  enemy  as 
insatiable  and  invincible,  everlastingly  stretching  out 
its  claws  over  their  territory.  And  again  he  made 
game  of  our  classic  education  which  assuredly  must 
temper  the  character  by  the  obscure  recollection  it 
propagates  of  so  many  traits  of  heroism,  of  so  many 
noble  passions !  But  he  interrupted  himself,  fearing  to 
be  too  sweeping : 

"  For  that  matter,  there  are  heaps  of  first-rate  fellows 
among  these  schoolmasters!" 

We  knew  some,  but  not  as  many  as  he  did!  He 
quoted  various  names.  Hermeline  in  the  1 8th  had  died 
heroically  the  other  day,  defending  the  bridge  at  Clery. 

One  evening  our  intercourse  assumed  a  philosophic 
complexion.  I  amused  myself  by  inveigling  Guillau- 
min  into  insidious  discussions.  He  fought  hard,  and 
appealed  several  times  to  De  Valpic  whose  courteous 
decisions  struck  me  by  their  perspicuity;  and  also  to 
the  highmindedness  they  seemed  to  bear  witness  to. 
And  yet  they  must  necessarily  be  inspired  by  some 
moral  philosophy — Which?  It  will  be  remembered 
that  the  very  sound  of  the  word  used  to  importunate 
me.  Once  started,  I  sketched  the  outline  of  my  late 


336  Ordeal  by  Fire 

doctrines.  I  was  curious  to  see  with  what  dialectics 
my  companions  would  oppose  those  I  had  so  often 
proved  irrefutable.  I  pressed  them.  I  showed  the 
logic  of  integral  egoism,  the  impossibility  for  man 
to  create  any  duty  other  than  his  happiness. 

"What  do  you  think  about  it,  De  Valpic?" 

He  quietly  remarked  that  moral  philosophy  in  his 
eyes  was  one  with  religion. 

"Which  religion?" 

"I  only  know  of  one!" 

This  steadfastness  did  not  displease  me.  I  was  not 
ignorant  of  his  principles.  I  had  seen  him,  the  very 
day  before,  during  our  stay  at  Hazaumont,  leave  us 
to  go  and  see  a  priest  and  communicate.  Was  his 
belief  irrational — foolish?  But  at  these  fateful 
junctures,  were  not  certain  sublime  follies  our  only 
stays? 


CHAPTER  V 

A   SHADOW   ON   THE   PICTURE 

IT  was  fortunate  that  we  were  three  friends,  three 
brothers,  each  less  devoted  to  himself  than  to  the 
others.  How  lonely  it  would  have  been  otherwise! 
In  billets  we  sometimes  happened  to  come  across 
friends  from  other  companies:  Laraque,  Ladmirault, 
or  Holveck.  There  would  be  a  handshake,  and  a  few 
words,  no  more,  and  then  we  separated.  They  on 
their  side  lived  for  themselves.  The  breach  between 
us  and  the  other  N.  C.  O's  was  widening. 

I  except  Breton,  the  quartermaster-sergeant,  who, 
on  the  contrary,  sided  with  us.  We  must  needs  do 
him  justice  for  the  care  and  cleverness  with  which  he 
accomplished  his  task  of  commanding  No.  4  platoon 
where  Hourcade  seconded  him  badly,  and  keeping  the 
books  of  the  whole  company  under  the  captain's  super- 
vision. Sturdy  and  square-shouldered,  it  was  good  to 
see  him  going  off  with  the  camp  material  towards  the 
end  of  a  long  halt.  He  nearly  always  succeeded  in 
hunting  out  suitable  sites.  His  responsibility  and 
the  country  life  suited  him.  He  no  doubt  looked  for- 
ward to  the  military  medal,  and  the  sergeant-major's 
stripe,  at  the  end  of  this  venture.  Plucky  under 
fire,  and  as  much  on  the  spot  there  as  elsewhere,  he 
always  had  his  men  well  in  hand.  He  had  been  wen 
over  by  our  conduct  under  fire.  During  his  rare 
«  337 


338  Ordeal  by  Fire 

leisure  moments,  he  would  willingly  come  and  joke  in 
our  little  group,  which  he  dubbed  "The  Bachelors' 
Club. "  The  only  trouble  was  that  with  him  you  had 
to  drink,  drink,  drink,  the  whole  time.  No  drunken- 
ness, but  good  hard  drinking!  We  refused  to  join 
him  for  the  first  few  days,  but  he  called  us  molly- 
coddles, and  almost  took  offence.  De  Valpic  advised 
us  to  accept.  We  took  turns  to  treat  each  other,  here 
a  pint,  there  a  glass.  After  that  it  was  a  case  of  friend- 
ship till  death,  between  him  and  us. 

But  the  Humel-Playoust  "lot"!  Ravelli  might 
rightly  be  classed  with  them  now.  I  have  spoken 
of  the  complete  transformation  which  had  been 
effected  in  him.  It  was  doubtful  whether  the  poilus 
ever  heard  the  sound  of  his  voice.  Playoust  had  taken 
possession  of  him,  getting  hold  of  him  through  his 
weaknesses,  flattering  his  Corsican  vanity,  but  mak- 
ing a  laughing-stock  of  him,  though  he  was  too  stupid 
to  see  it.  They  never  left  each  other,  and  were  on  the 
most  familiar  terms.  These  days,  so  fertile  in  sur- 
prises.had  completely  deranged  the  sergeant-major  who 
had  always  been  rather  shaky  in  the  upper  storey.  He 
saw  spies  everywhere — in  all  the  old  women,  and  priests, 
disguises  which  had  as  a  matter  of  fact  been  made  use 
of.  Playoust  spurred  him  on,  for  the  amusement  of 
the  onlookers.  The  game  was  assuming  alarming 
proportions.  Ravelli,  at  Hazaumont,  went  to  find 
the  commanding  officer,  and  handed  over  a  list  of 
suspects  to  him,  which  had  been  drawn  slyly,  by  the 
other — all  the  parish  priests  in  the  neighbourhood! 
The  captain  was  good-natured;  he  merely  shook  the 
poor  sergeant-major: 

"I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  you,  my  lad!" 

Later  on,  on  the  evening  of  "Beauclair, "  Ravelli 


A  Shadow  on  the  Picture         339 

only  just  missed  throwing  the  whole  division  into  a 
panic  by  yelling  "The  Uhlans!" 

Trouble  might  have  come  of  it.  There  was  some 
question  of  reducing  him  to  the  ranks.  His  last  chance 
of  obtaining  officer's  rank  was  lost  then. 

But  in  spite  of  it  he  still  continued  to  pin  all  his 
faith  to  Playoust.  His  ears  buzzed,  and  he  was 
continually  asking: 

"Is  that  firing,  that  we  hear?" 

."Exactly." 

And  the  wretch  pointed  out  some  fleecy  clouds  in 
the  sky. 

"Look  there.     Shells  bursting !" 

"Good  heavens!     Marked  again!" 

But  one  thing  that  was  not  so  funny  was  that 
since  the  sergeant-major  continued  to  arrange  the 
rounds  of  duty,  Playoust  made  use  of  his  power  over 
him  to  get  him  to  bully  or  favour  certain  men.  De 
Valpic  as  has  been  seen  was  their  principal  victim. 
But  directly  we  got  wind  of  the  matter,  Breton  warned 
Ravelli  that  we  had  decided  to  report  it  to  the  captain. 
The  threat  was  sufficient,  the  normal  time-table  was 
immediately  reverted  to.  All  he  gained  by  it  was 
that  Guillaumin,  who  was  sickened  by  it,  called  him 
and  his  set,  Brutus!  and  Blackguards!  and  refused 
point-blank  to  have  anything  to  do  with  them  in 
future. 

Yes,  that's  what  it  came  to  in  the  end. 

The  N.  C.  O's  of  each  company  stuck  together  and 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  others.  In  the  sinister 
hours  of  that  retreat!  I  blush  to  have  to  report  it! 

Hourcade  was  simply  an  unpleasant  nincompoop. 
His  only  outstanding  feature  was  his  greed.  If  he 
had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the  Humel -Play oust  set,  it 


340  Ordeal  by  Fire 

was  because  he  considered  that  he  was  more  likely  to 
pick  up  titbits  there  than  anywhere  else — a  folly 
which  prevented  him  from  tasting  Gaufreteau's 
cooking !  He  stuffed  into  his  haversack  miscellaneous 
provisions,  most  of  which  he  had  shamefully  gleaned 
from  his  men's  rations.  His  mouth  was  always  full. 
In  billets,  replete,  not  to  say  crammed,  he  quickly  fell 
asleep  and  snored. 

As  for  the  two  elementary  schoolmasters,  that  was 
a  simple  matter:  they  hated  us.  Not  starting  from 
today  or  yesterday,  but  from  several  years  ago,  and 
before  that — from  birth.  They  were  envious,  embit- 
tered fellows,  suffering,  so  De  Valpic  considered,  from 
their  semi-educated  state.  An  ambiguous  caste, 
despising  the  peasant  and  detesting  the  bourgeois, 
though  we  had  nevertheless  met  and  appreciated  some 
lads  belonging  to  the  same  class  at  the  "Peloton," 
who  were  hard-working,  intelligent,  and  ambitious, 
and  had  taken  top  places  at  the  end  of  the  year. 
But  these  were  vulgar  and  envious  on  a  level  with 
most  of  them.  Their  physique  was  poor  too.  Even 
Descroix's  strength,  heavy  and  squat  though  he  was, 
did  not  come  near  to  ours;  one  felt  that  his  blood  had 
been  impoverished  and  his  muscles  weakened  by  a 
studious  youth,  infrequent  exercise,  and  poor  nourish- 
ment. I  considered  him  really  repulsive  with  his 
flattened  head,  his  stuck -out  ears,  his  gaping  mouth. 
I  disliked  him  for  all  these  signs  of  degeneration,  and 
above  all  because  of  his  deliberate  cruelty  towards  the 
"viscount,"  and  the  brutal  laugh  with  which  he 
greeted  Playoust's  spiteful  tricks.  Humel,  who  was 
small  and  weakly,  with  a  thin  neck  and  bowed  shoul- 
ders, and  was  always  exhausted  at  the  end  of  a  day's 
march,  inspired  me  with  more  indulgence.  Was  he  not 


A  Shadow  on  the  Picture         341 

the  youngest  of  us  since  Fremont  had  disappeared? 
Once  or  twice  I  thought  I  saw  a  look  of  gentleness  flit 
across  his  face,  an  expression  which  always  attracts  me. 
I  had  occasionally  made  certain  advances.  In  vain. 
A  fanatical  disciple  of  his  companions,  he  was  not  the 
least  quick  of  them  in  administering  offensive  rebuffs. 

Playoust  had  them  all  under  his  thumb.  He  was 
certainly  smart,  the  rascal f  I  had  been  finely  taken 
in  at  first  by  his  look  of  a  Paris  street-urchin.  He 
worked  his  open-handed,  happy-go-lucky  appearance, 
which  makes  the  type  so  attractive,  for  all  it  was 
worth.  And  all  the  time  he  was  as  slippery  and  vicious 
as  he  could  be.  He  hardly  ever  risked  anything  more 
than  a  casual  piece  of  insolence  on  us,  and  he  was  the 
only  one  of  the  lot  who  continued  to  say  good-day  to 
us  or  to  shake  our  hands,  while,  privately,  he  never 
ceased  to  stir  up  his  acolytes  against  us.  It  must  be 
noted  too  that  he  made  game  of  them,  cynically  letting 
them  in  for  endless  fatigues.  I  bore  him  all  the  more 
ill-will  for  it,  because,  for  a  long  time,  I  had  thought 
I  recognised  a  kindred  spirit  in  him.  Nothing  had 
awakened  in  him — a  proof  that  there  was  nothing  lying 
dormant  in  him.  What  a  hideous  vision  he  afforded 
me  of  what  I  might  have  been. 

Let  there  be  no  mistake  about  it.  What  annoyed  us 
most  about  them  all  was  the  sight  of  their  flabbiness 
and  slackness.  Since  Spincourt  they  had  chucked  the 
whole  show  and  were  continually  saying  that  they 
didn't  care  a  blow  what  happened ! 

Their  corporals  were  decent  fellows  and  partially  suc- 
ceeded in  making  up  for  their  deficiencies.  Their  men 
were  no  worse  than  most.  But  in  spite  of  it  their  lack 
of  authority  came  nigh  to  being  disastrous  on  several 
occasions.  To  begin  with,  it  was  an  admitted  fact 


342  Ordeal  by  Fire 

,!  -^ 

that  in  their  platoon  they  might  get  drunk  with 
impunity.  I  remember  the  stink  of  wine  and  vomiting 
which  rose  from  the  stables  where  their  men  were 
billeted.  How  could  De  Valpic's  have  escaped  the 
infection?  Ravelli,  who  had  been  put  up  to  it  by  the 
others,  was  always  down  on  him.  Playoust  was 
charmed  when  the  soldiers  and  the  inhabitants  were  at 
loggerheads  with  each  other.  He  tacitly  encouraged 
the  foraging  and  marauding  that  went  on.  Some  of 
his  poilus  were  mixed  up  in  the  rows  at  Bethaincourt. 

Here  is  another  occurrence  which  will  serve  to  illus- 
trate the  different  attitudes  of  mind.  One  grilling 
afternoon  when  we  were  passing  the  train  of  company 
waggons,  the  captain  took  it  upon  himself  to  give  the 
most  exhausted  men  permission  to  put  their  packs  in 
the  waggons.  Our  men  were  too  proud.  Their  packs! 
They  were  quite  capable  of  carrying  them  themselves, 
thanks !  In  the  first  platoon  the  N.  C.  O's  were  the 
first  to  unballast  themselves;  first,  ten,  then  fifteen, 
then  thirty  of  the  men  copied  them.  When  that  wag- 
gon was  full,  what  should  these  fine  gentlemen  do, 
but  set  to  work  calmly  to  fill  the  next  one  that  came 
along,  which  belonged  to  No.  20  company.  The 
commanding  officer,  when  he  heard  about  it,  came 
rushing  up,  inquired  into  the  matter,  bellowed  like 
a  bull  and  cancelled  the  permission.  Our  men 
chuckled  over  the  occurrence.  The  others  were  furi- 
ous: He'd  better  not  bully  them!  Get  away  with 
him.  They  were  fed  up ! 

As  the  retirement  went  on  the  "set"  kept  up  a 
stream  of  grumbles.  The  marches  were  too  long. 
Poor  reservists,  we  were  being  killed.!,  .Why  did  we 
halt  so  far  from  any  well?.  Was  it  true  that. alLthe 
filth  was  thrown  into  them  ?  Why  was  our  company 


A  Shadow  on  the  Picture         343 

always  given  the  most  disgusting  quarters?  It  \yas 
not  surprising!  Our  captain  didn't  get  on  with  any 
one!  Who  had  to  pay?  We  of  course!  And  the 
baksheesh?  Who  got  the  baksheesh?  As  there 
wasn't  even  a  ration  of  brandy  every  day. 

After  "Beauclair"  things  got  even  worse.  We 
only  caught  scraps  of  their  declamations  because  they 
put  on  the  soft  pedal  when  they  saw  us  coming,  just 
as  they  did  with  the  officers.  Playoust  among  others 
was  particularly  good  at  posing  as  an  excellent  fellow 
who  was  never  put  out  by  anything.  But  out  of  the 
reach  of  "tell-tales"  and  "busy-bodies,"  their  evil 
tongues  wagged  busily. 

It  was  sickening!  they  declared.  The  command- 
ing officers  were  the  outside  limit !  According  to  them 
our  brigadier-general,  an  old  Colonial,  drank.  The 
colonel  was  the  kind  of  man  to  get  us  all  hacked  to 
pieces  for  the  sake  of  keeping  up  his  reputation  for 
bravery.  They  gave  us  to  understand  they  were 
delighted  to  see  him  wounded,  and  they  would  have 
been  even  more  so  if  he  had  not  been  replaced  by  that 
old  "dug-out. "  For  that  matter,  you  only  need  look 
at  the  result  in  order  to  see  what  our  leaders  were! 
Hopeless!  If  we  weren't  done  for  we  deserved  to  be. 
.Marches  and  counter-marches,  bad  management. 
We  could  hold  the  Bosches  when  we  got  them  to  grips. 
There  was  nothing  to  beat  a  French  soldier !  But  as 
for  preparation.  Blimey!  The  slackers  who  had  to 
look  after  that!  Descroix  cast  up  his  eyes,  swearing 
that  those  responsible  would  be  found  among  the  old 
ministers  and  present  deputies.  He  foretold  retalia- 
tion in  the  shape  of  lawsuits,  or  riots.  Why  was 
there  such  a  lack  of  heavy  artillery,  of  machine-guns, 
of  searchlight  apparatus,  and  armoured  cars?  Why 


344  Ordeal  by  Fire 

did. we  see  nothing  of  the  aeroplanes  whose  praises  we 
had  had  drummed  into  our  ears  for  years  ? 

We  were  getting  near  to  all  the  senseless  recrimina- 
tions of  1870.  But  they  were  not  quite  so  serious 
this  time,  in  spite  of  everything.  They  did  not  ac- 
cuse Poincard  of  having  been  bribed,  or  Joflfreof  being 
a  traitor.  They  did  not  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  that 
this  war  was  absurd  or  unjust.  We  had  to  defend  our- 
selves, after  all !  The  most  bitter  complaints  were  of 
incompetence,  and  of  the  lack  of  foresight.  Enough 
to  be  demoralising! 

They  made  tremendous  fun  of  Ravelli  and  his  fears, 
which  they  shared  at  the  bottom.  Especially  the 
spies!  They  passed  on  their  superstitious  terror  to 
their  men.  There  could  be  nothing  more  depressing 
for  them  than  to  feel  they  were  surrounded  by  a  vague 
throng  of  enemies.  It  was  like  asking  for  hysterics. 
I  remember  how  on  the  morning  we  were  guarding 
part  of  the  Meuse,  a  group  of  refugees  from  Montmddy 
came  up,  a  family  of  five,  including  two  children  who 
implored  us  to  help  them  across.  They  were  fortunate 
in  finding  us.  We  showed  them  a  ford  and  had 
them  taken  to  the  C.  0.  A  little  farther  up  the 
poor  wretches  had  come  across  some  men  out  of 
Playoust's  platoon,  who  had  insulted  them  and 
threatened  to  shoot  them. 

And  then  there  were  the  false  reports,  the  pseudo- 
news,  invented  or  rumoured,  but  always  bad:  Italy 
entering  the  lists  against  us,  or  England's  dilatoriness. 
We  should  have  to  pay  damages!  Or  else,  one  way  of 
getting  out  of  it  would  be  to  leave  our  friends,  the 
Russians,  in  the  lurch.  Not  a  thing  to  boast  about, 
perhaps !  But  it  would  cut  short  this  war,  and  they 
were  fed  up  with  it ! 


A  Shadow  on  the  Picture         345 

I  am  not  exaggerating.  They  descended  to  these 
depths  of  ignominy.  They  were  more  at  ease  with  De 
Valpic  who  slept  with  them,  and  he  reported  similar 
conversations.  It  did  not  do  to  attach  too  much 
importance  to  it.  There  was  probably  a  good  deal  of 
"side"  about  it.  They  were  so  jealous  of  us.  Or 
perhaps  they  thought  it  fine  to  pose,  on  their  side,  as 
people  who  were  not  to  be  humbugged,  or  again  it 
might  be  simply  the  inconsequence  of  men  who  did 
not  quite  realise  the  situation,  or  the  meaning  of  their 
words.  Each  of  them  egged  the  others  on. 

And  to  think — De  Valpic  inclined  to  the  idea — that 
they  were  without  doubt  excellent  Frenchmen,  who, 
when  it  came  to  getting  killed,  would  do  the  thing  in 
style! 

In  any  case  nothing  exasperated  Guillaumin  like 
their  attitude.  He  announced  his  intention  of  going 
to  the  C.  0.  to  get  him  to  put  an  end  to  the  scandal,  at 
least  twenty  times.  We  restrained  him,  being  opposed 
to  all  tale-telling.  We  endeavoured  to  prove  to  him 
that  their  wild  talk  had  no  effect.  Playoust  had 
had  the  reputation  of  being  a  wag  ever  since  the  begin- 
ning. None  of  the  men  would  take  his  nonsense 
seriously. 

Guillaumin  did  not  give  in: 

"You'll  see!"  he  said.  "You  don't  realise  that  all 
that  eats  away  and  undermines.  ...  It  is  bound  to 
show  itself  in  time!" 

It  was  true  enough!  What  a  difference  there  was 
in  the  morale  of  the  two  platoons. 

In  ours,  for  instance,  nobody  ever  reported  sick 
unless  he  was  suffering  tortures.  They  made  it  a  point 
of  personal  pride.  In  theirs,  on  the  contrary!  One 
morning,  Guillaumin,  who  was  sergeant  of  the  day,  had 


346  Ordeal  by  Fire 

put  down  eight  men  for  medical  parade.  A  mere 
trifle!  He  calmly  undertook  to  cure  them  all  by 
suggestion.  His  chief  argument  was  that  they 
would  have  to  foot  it  for  about  five  and  a  half  miles, 
to  reach  the  Medical  Officer.  Five  of  the  men  had 
their  names  scratched;  the  rest  stuck  to  it.  It 
happened  to  be  one  of  Bouchut's  bad  days  and  he 
sent  them  all  off  with  a  flea  in  their  ear. 

And  when  we  stormed  Beauclair,  what  a  tragic 
exhibition  they  gave  of  themselves.  When  we  left 
the  wood  in  extended  order,  ready  to  charge,  we  looked 
round  for  No.  I  platoon,  which  was  to  support  us  on 
our  right.  Not  a  sign  of  it  to  be  seen.  It  made  a 
cruel  impression  on  us  just  as  we  were  starting  off  with 
fixed  bayonets.  At  last  we  saw  Lieutenant  Delafosse 
come  out  leading  a  handful  of  men,  among  them  De 
Valpic  and  his  half -section.  Behind,  a  long  way 
behind,  was  Humel.  We  charged  and  saw  no  more  of 
them.  In  the  uproar  which  followed  upon  the  occu- 
pation of  the  village,  the  incident  passed  more  or  less 
unnoticed.  But  we  learnt  that  the  C.  O.  had  rated 
Delafosse  for  it  roundly.  The  latter,  throwing  off 
his  reserve,  frankly  laid  the  blame  on  some  of  his 
N.  C.  O's  who  lacked  go.  .  .  .  That  was  putting  the 
case  very  mildly!  De  Valpic  assured  me  that  he 
had  heard  Descroix  putting  the  drag  on  his  men's 
eagerness.  "Don't  hurry  lads!  The  first  lot  will  be 
napoohed!" 

Here  again  no  penalties  were  inflicted;  they  would 
have  been  too  terrible.  The  well-known  sentence  for 
every  weakness  in  military  law  is :  DEA  TH. 

This  leniency  was  perhaps  to  be  blamed.  Who 
can  say  what  an  ill-omened  influence  our  comrades 
exercised  during  the  davs  that  followed?  It  was  the 


A  Shadow  on  the  Picture         347 

most  gloomy  period  of  all.  We  abandoned  first- 
rate  positions  without  fighting.  It  was  impossible  to 
rely  on  any  favourable  information,  however  slight. 
Rumours  circulated,  and  were  added  to,  concerning 
our  reverse  in  the  North.  The  replenishment  of 
munitions  which  had  up  till  then  been  well-organised 
was  failing.  We  were,  as  I  have  said,  repeatedly  in 
danger  of  being  cut  off,  or  of  getting  under  fire  from 
the  pursuing  batteries.  Villages  blazed  behind  us,  or 
even  on  our  flank — a  palpable  danger  for  our  retreat. 
The  ditches  too  were  filled  with  soldiers,  belonging 
chiefly  to  the  regulars.  Who  could  blame  them  for  it  ? 
Boys  of  twenty,  worn  out  by  four  weeks'  overdriving, 
sleeping  there,  by  the  roadsides,  for  days  and  nights 
on  end. 

It  was  a  bad  example  though.  The  temptation  to 
copy  them  was  so  great.  There  were  no  more 
mounted  police  on  the  heels  of  the  stragglers.  Even 
they  were  fighting,  so  we  were  told. 

That  was  how  our  numbers  dwindled.  We  had 
realised  the  danger,  and  our  efforts  were  combined  in 
preventing  any  men  from  staying  behind.  We  kept 
on  urging  them :  "  Come  along  now !  Only  a  few  miles 
more.  You  surely  don't  want  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  Huns!"  And  we  laid  to  their  charge  abominable 
atrocities  surpassed  by  reality. 

At  last  we  reached  our  goal.  We  lost  only  five 
men  out  of  the  platoon  during  that  week,  two  of  whom 
were  ill,  and  two  wounded.  What  leakage  there  was 
in  No.  I  company!  We  got  the  exact  figures  from 
the  quartermaster-sergeant,  who  had  to  draw  up  the 
numerical  returns  each  evening.  Breton  stormed, 
excellent  fellow  that  he  was! 

"Hang  it  all!     Poilus  are  too  precious  to  lose!" 


348  Ordeal  by  Fire 

One  evening  in  Descroix's  platoon  only  twenty- 
nine  men  were  left,  out  of  thirty-five  the  day  be- 
fore, and  Breton  cynically  sneered:  "Six  more  done 
a  bunk!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  POILUS 

YES,  Guillaumin  had  been  quite  right!  Ever  since 

we  had  rejoined  at  F his  one  care  had  been  the 

morale  of  the  men!  On  that,  indeed,  depended  the 
fate  of  the  country,  united  with  that  of  the  present 
campaign.  And  this  morale,  in  its  turn,  depended 
partly  on  us,  in  view  of  our  responsibility. 

A  task  which  was  quite  new  to  me.  I  have  said 
how,  at  our  departure,  I  could  not  conceive  myself 
taking  an  interest  in  these  dolts.  Yes!  But  had  I 
not  felt  them  quiver  as  they  marched  at  my  side 
through  the  horror  of  the  fire?  The  praise  surprised 
on  their  lips  that  evening  had  made  my  heart  beat — 
reciprocal  esteem — and  I  had  dreamt  of  something 
more. 

During  the  long  rnarches  I  took  steps  to  get  into 
touch  with  them,  to  overcome  their  shyness,  the  re- 
mains of  their  distrust.  I  was  not  afraid  of  showing 
a  few  of  them  what  was  in  my  heart.  One  of  these 
was  Icard,  the  miller,  a  steady,  quiet  fellow,  whose 
good  sense  had  struck  me  on  several  occasions.  Under 
the  present  circumstances,  the  footing  we  were  usually 
on,  I  said,  was  not  enough.  Complete  harmony  of 
mind  and  heart  between  us  all  seemed  to  me  neces- 
sary for  our  common  safety. 

"We're  fond  enough  of  you,  already,  sergeant!" 
349 


35°  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  smiled. 

"Fonder  than  you  were  at  the  beginning?" 
"Yes,  then  we  weren't  exactly  struck  on  you. " 
I  think  he  was  speaking  at  his  comrades.     Their 
instinct  must  have  made  them  realise  my  friendly 
intentions.     They  quickly  became  more  familiar  and 
expansive.     The  last  barrier  had  fallen. 

I  again  appreciated  Guillaumin's  perspicuity. 
According  to  him  these  people  dreaded  betraying 
whatever  tenderness  and  delicacy  was  aroused  in 
them,  by  putting  it  into  words.  They  were  shy  of 
talking  about  themselves,  and  expanded  more  willingly 
on  a  thousand  and  one  abstract  subjects.  I  had 
resigned  myself  to  listening  to  an  endless  flow  of  words 
and  pointless  tales.  They  were  flattered  by  my 
attention,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  them  ten  times 
less  childish  and  narrow  in  their  talk  than  many 
drawing-room  conversationalists.  It  was  the  taste, 
innate  in  the  French,  for  discussion  and  reasoning. 
Penetration  and  logic  are  ordinary  qualities  in  them. 
Icard  laid  before  me  his  views  on  the  questions  which 
impassioned  him:  agricultural  economy,  modern 
implements,  the  introduction  of  new  crops,  the  causes 
and  consequences  of  the  population  of  the  country 
districts,  the  remedies  to  be  applied  to  it — all  pro- 
blems of  vital  importance  to  the  nation.  I  who 
claimed  to  be  so  eclectic  had  to  blush  for  myself 
because  I  had  never  considered  them. 

With  him,  and  with  some  of  the  others,  I  took  a 
delight  in  broaching  the  subject  of  socialistic  doctrines. 
We  were  at  one  in  our  premises.  Starting  from  that 
point  I  used  to  get  them  to  talk,  curious  to  see  how 
much  electioneering  patter  they  had  retained.  More 
than  mere  words,  in  any  case!  Some  of  them  were 


The  Poilus  351 

imbued  with  the  party  point  of  view.  Each  of  them, 
for.  that  matter,  followed  wherever  his  temperament 
led  him.  Prunelle,  the  jeweller,  favoured  the  view 
that  the  state  should  interfere  as  little  as  possible 
with  individual  enterprise.  Icard,  for  his  part,  was  a 
staunch  advocate  of  a  sort  of  dominant  collectivism: 
of  the  most  perfect  organisation  of  society,  down  to 
the  very  smallest  details,  by  its  chosen  representatives. 
He  said  to  me : 

"Look  at  the  Bosches.  They  have  it  in  a  sense. 
That's  what  constitutes  their  strength.  It's  sad  to 
think  the  poor  brutes  have  to  work  for  the  King  of 
Prussia!" 

I  tried,  too,  to  probe  their  inmost  convictions. 
Were  they  really  keen  about  this  struggle  which 
would  determine  the  future  of  their  race? 

It  did  not  take  long  to  convince  me  of  it.  Their 
patriotism  was  not  an  abstract  quality :  it  was  more 
than  that — a  tradition,  almost  a  physical  need.  A 
free  France  was  just  as  vital  to  them  as  eating  or 
breathing.  I  had  the  opportunity  of  admiring  the 
moral  unity  accomplished  by  the  work  of  centuries 
of  history.  The  Prussians  had  done  these  Beaucerons 
a  personal  injury  in  violating  the  distant  Eastern 
frontier.  No  peace  for  them  before  these  brigands 
had  been  sent  back  to  where  they  came  from!  The 
question  of  Alsace-Lorraine  affected  them  in  a  lesser 
degree.  It  was  a  long  way  off — almost  an  accomplished 
fact !  But  nevertheless  it  must  be  won  back,  if  only  as 
a  matter  of  personal  pride,  for  "swank " ! 

Their  memory  of  the  other  war  had  not  been  at  all 
obliterated,  as  I  should  have  expected  it  to  be.  Most 
of  them  had  heard  from  their  parents  what  vexations 
and  devastations  their  province  had  had  to  endure 


352  Ordeal  by  Fire 

in  those  bygone  days.  They  had  before  their  eyes 
the  ravages  of  the  present  war.  Hang  it  all !  If  only 
the  Bosches  did  not  advance  too  far!  We  mustn't  be 
beaten  again. 

And  then  as  Corporal  Bouguet  very  neatly  expressed 
it,  considering  how  long  we  had  been  pestered  by 
having  to  put  in  two  or  three  years'  military  service, 
we  should  be  dolts  not  to  give  them  a  good  thrashing 
once  and  for  all,  for  the  sake  of  gaining  a  quiet  life ! 

Their  spirit  in  fact  was  marvellous.  It  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  we  were  still  retreating!  There  was 
never  a  sign  of  real  discouragement.  It  was  sometimes 
upsetting,  certainly,  to  leave  superb  positions  without 
firing  a  single  shot.  But  if  it  must  be !  If,  as  was  still 
rumoured,  it  was  for  tactical  reasons  to  lead  the  enemy 
into  a  trap !  The  fantastic  exploits  attributed  to  the 
artillery  still  continued  to  fire  our  imagination.  Once 
or  twice  we  met  convoys  of  prisoners.  Halloa! 
Things  must  be  on  the  mend !  And  then,  why  attempt 
to  give  any  explanation?  Things  went  well,  because 
they  went  well.  Even  in  the  first  platoon  there  was 
never  any  serious  trouble,  the  bad  seed  did  not  bear. 
There  was  nothing  worse  than  a  little  slackness,  rather 
less  energy. 

There  was  plenty  of  marching.  Yes,  but  nothing 
dismal  about  it  most  of  the  time,  especially  when  we 
thought  we  were  getting  near  to  the  enemy  when 
there  would  be  a  volley  of  witticisms: 

"Halloa!  Trichet!"  Guillaumin  exclaimed.  "I 
suppose  you  think  Prunelle's  sight  too  good,  and 
that's  why  you're  sticking  your  gun  into  his 
eye?" 

They  laughed;  the  jeweller  was  short-sighted  and 
wore  glasses. 


The  Poilus  353 

The  men  were  generally  allowed  to  sing.  When  I 
saw  they  were  beginning  to  flag,  I  shouted: 

"Strike  up,  Bouguet!  Let's  have  one  of  your 
songs. " 

"Which  shall  it  be,  Sergeant?" 

The  corporal  who  was  the  songster  of  the  platoon 
turned  to  me  gaily.  We  were  on  excellent  terms  now. 

Voices  were  raised  demanding : 

"  The  Ace  of  Diamonds! " 

"The  Miller's  Wife!" 

The  corporal  struck  up. 


Miller,  miller,  she  betrays  you! 


They  exploded,  nudging  each  other,  and  nodding  in 
Icard's  direction  who  was  the  first  to  appreciate  the 
joke. 

Or  else  it  was  the  Crocodiles,  doggerel  brought  into 
fashion  by  Lamalou,  and  which  they  never  tired  of: 

A  crocodile — on  going  off  to  war 

Said  "Good-bye,  ICids" — but  not  for  evermore. 

His  great  tail — looking  very  elegant 

He  started  off — to  fight  the  elephant!  .... 

Then  the  refrain ! 

Everyone  joined  in  the  chorus. 

Oh  the  cro-cro-cro-,  the  cro-cro-cro-,  the  cro-co-di-iles, 

All  along  the  Nile!    They  have  vanished,  we'll  say  no  more! 

Childish  songs,  with  a  good  swing  to  them.  Fatigue 
was  forgotten.  Mile  followed  mile  in  the  heat  and 
dust.  A  refrain  of  that  kind  swept  right  along  the 
column.  While  we  drew  breath,  snatches  of  couplets 
reached  us  from  the  distance. 

•I 


354  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Like  nothin'  on  earth,  those  caterwaulers ! "  Judsi 
exclaimed. 

Oh,  that  Judsi !  What  a  type  he  was !  The  incar- 
nation, the  flower  of  the  race.  In  each  platoon  of 
France's  army,  from  end  to  end  of  the  campaign,  I 
bet  there  was  a  Judsi.  A  street-urchin,  from  Paris 
or  elsewhere  .  .  .  An  apache  yesterday,  perhaps — • 
it  was  quite  possible — but  ennobled  to-day  by 
circumstances ! 

He  was  an  admirable  source  of  good-humour. 
Made  to  cheer  up  the  others.  He  chatted  without 
ceasing  for  hours  and  hours  at  a  time,  accumulating 
eccentricities  of  mimicry  and  expression.  Nothing 
pleased  him  so  much  as  to  see  that  we  were  listening. 
That  was  the  time  when  we  played  up  hardest.  I 
swear  that  by  the  unexpectedness  of  his  sallies  and  the 
inflections  of  his  hoarse  voice,  he  often  attained  a  pitch 
of  drollery  which  was  quite  priceless.  His  slightest 
absurdities  gave  rise  to  fits  of  hilarious  gaiety.  The 
men  pressed  round  him,  as  if  on  parade.  It  even 
interfered  with  the  marching  order.  What  should  he 
do  but  organise  relays !  Every  quarter  of  an  hour,  he 
said  to  his  neighbours: 

"  'Ook  it  lads !  Send  some  other  pals  along  now,  an' 
we'll  see  if  I  can't  raise  a  smile  out  of  'em. " 

They  gave  up  their  places  without  any  sour  looks. 

"Ain't  'e  a  caution!" 

"Fit  to  make  yer  split,  the  blighter!" 

He  was  never  in  better  form  than  when  we  were  in 
the  tightest  places,  when  all  the  others  were  down  in  the 
dumps.  On  the  "Beauclair"  evening,  when  we  had 
to  retire,  he  was  worth  seeing  as  he  went  off  shoulder- 
ing his  rifle,  with  a  Uhlan's  helmet,  picked  up  in  some 
house,  in  his  hand,  and  the  air  of  a  gentleman  who  had 


The  Poilus  355 

just  put  an  end  to  the  war  in  the  most  brilliant  style, 
and  was  on  his  way  home  where  his  little  wife  was  wait- 
ing to  welcome  him  with  open  arms !  Or  again  on  the 
next  day.  ...  A  hail  of  shells,  which  was  beginning, 
had  just  set  fire  to  a  little  bit  of  a  house.  He  asked 
the  cook's  permission  to  make  the  coffee,  carried  off 
the  camp  kettle,  collected  some  brands  from  the 
beams,  and  boiled  the  water  on  them  at  the  window. 
The  shower  of  the  "Black  Marias"  continued.  It 
was  a  miracle  that  he  was  not  killed.  But  his  luck, 
our  luck,  held. 

What  endless  queer  characters  there  were!  Lama- 
lou,  Bouguet,  Gaudereaux.  We've  seen  them  all  at 
work — one  might  go  on  naming  them  indefinitely. 
And  Bouillon ! 

He  had  come  one  morning  to  ask  my  advice  as  to 
how  to  send  money  orders. 

I  had  taken  it  as  a  joke : 

"Send  them,  my  dear  fellow?  This  is  more  the 
sort  of  time  to  receive  them!" 

"It's  for  Marie,"  he  said,  "who's  stayed  behind 
with  the  kid!" 

"Your  kid?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that!" 

He  explained  that  he  had  lived  with  a  girl,  a  rag- 
gatherer  like  himself.  They  had  struck  up  acquaint- 
ance when  plying  their  hooks,  and  made  love  across  the 
dust-bins — and  they  had  come  to  an  understanding. 
So  far,  so  good.  But  then  at  the  end  of  eight  months 
— eight  months  exactly,  that  was  the  annoying  part ! — 
Marie  had  gone  to  Boucicaut  for  the  birth  of  her  child, 
a  little  duck,  as  pretty  as  could  be!  The  point  was 
not  so  much  to  find  out  who  its  father  was,  as  to  rear 
the  little  brat !  It  used  to  be  quite  a  paying  job — • 


356  Ordeal  by  Fire 

but  then  the  great  Trafalgar  had  come,  and  Blimey ! 
ever  since  then  there  hadn't  been  none  too  much  to  be 
scratched  up  out  o'  them  dust-bins — so  he  thought 
that  as  he  had  a  bit  o'  cash  he'd  better  send  some  to 
Marie,  if  it  weren't  more'n  ten  francs. 

I  realised  that  he  must  be  economising  out  of  the 
little  tips  he  got  from  me.  I  was  much  touched  by 
his  story,  and  promised  to  make  inquiries. 

The  matter  would  depend  on  the  baggage-master. 
He  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  just  then.  Bouillon 
asked  me  about  the  matter  again.  I  mentioned  it 
casually  to  Henriot  who  sent  me  to  the  captain.  He 
greeted  me  affably,  and  I  laid  the  matter  before 
him.  He  called  me  back.  He  had  learnt,  he  said,  of 
my  brother's  death,  and  he  expressed  his  sympathy 
for  me.  He  added  that  he  had  watched  me  at  work. 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  you've  been  making  yourself  useful. " 

As  for  the  money  order,  he  undertook  to  see  that  it 
got  to  its  destination,  solemnly  took  the  girl's  address, 
and  handed  me  a  receipt. 

When  he  got  it,  Bouillon  turned  it  over  and  over, 
and  asked  me  what  it  meant. 

The  little  sum  had  been  doubled  by  me  and  doubled 
again  by  the  captain. 

His  tanned  face  contracted;  and  tears  glistened  in 
the  corners  of  his  big  eyes.  He  stammered  in  his  effort 
to  thank  me. 

"Oh!     R-r-rooky!" 

I  gave  him  a  smack  on  the  shoulder,  and  told  him — 
and  how  sincerely  I  meant  it — that  we  owed  him  a 
hundred  times  more ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

SOCIALISM 

USEFUL!  I  was  making  myself  useful!  The  cap- 
tain's words  rang  in  my  ears. 

I  remembered  how  I  had  wondered  quite  lately  what 
use  my  life  was,  and  who  in  the  world  would  have 
suffered  by  it,  or  missed  me  if  I  had  disappeared. 
Instead  of  which  I  filled  a  place  well,  to-day.  My 
death  would  have  been  a  loss.  I  certainly  exaggerated 
the  importance  of  my  role,  but  the  satisfaction  each 
evening  of  having  kept  intact  or  added  to  the  strength 
which  was  given  to  me,  was  so  sweet  to  me. 

It  did  me  more  credit,  perhaps,  than  some  of  the 
others.  I  had  always  professed  not  only  a  lack  of 
curiosity  about  all  manual  labour,  but  a  disgust  of  it. 
It  was  the  stupidity  of  a  young  intellectual  inclined 
to  consider  everything  which  did  not  show  off  the 
superior  play  of  thought  as  a  vulgar  task.  Who  would 
dream  how  far  I  carried  this  detachment?  The 
farthest  I  ever  got,  towards  the  end  of  my  term  of 
service,  was  to  do  up  the  buckles  of  my  pack, — Guillau- 
min  always  had  to  help  me.  I  had  begun  to  realise 
during  the  last  few  days  what  grandeur  may  lie  in  the 
fulfilment  of  humble  duties.  A  leader  of  men,  especi- 
ally in  the  modest  sphere  in  which  I  gravitated  owing 
to  my  lowly  rank,  has  no  right  to  shirk  any  subjection. 
He  does  not  get  into  touch  with  his  subordinates,  or 

357 


358  Ordeal  by  Fire 

inspire  them  with  complete  esteem  and  confidence, 
unless  he  succeeds  in  proving  to  them  that  even  in 
the  field  of  everyday  tasks,  he  is  cleverer,  better  in- 
formed, and  more  expert  than  they  are.  The  com- 
plete man  calmly  considers  all  the  difficulties  which 
may  arise,  from  the  most  trivial  to  the  most  serious, 
and  being  unworthy  of  none  of  them,  considers  none 
of  them  unworthy  of  him. 

So  I  no  longer  avoided,  but  rather  sought,  occasions 
to  expend  myself.  I  followed  Guillaumin's  example, 
and  drew  on  all  I  had  read  and  remembered.  To 
speak  the  truth,  when  I  tried,  inexperienced  as  I  was, 
to  put  my  ideas  into  practice,  my  advice  was  not  very 
much  to  the  point. 

Bouillon  doubled  up  with  laughter  when  I  told 
him  to  damp  the  case  of  his  water-bottle,  or  again 
when  we  got  to  our  quarters  that  rainy  evening  and  I 
advised  him  to  stuff  his  boots  with  dry  straw. 

"Go  an'  teach  yer  grandfather !  Just  take  a  look  at 
yours,  an'  see  if  I  'aven't  done  it ! " 

The  last  of  my  poilus  could  have  put  me  right  on 
endless  questions  of  a  practical  nature.  Quite  so! 
But  I  could  be  useful  to  them  in  other  ways.  Once 
when  arms  were  being  cleaned,  Gaudereaux  had  seen 
fit  to  take  his  repeating  apparatus  to  pieces,  and  came 
to  grief  over  putting  it  together  again.  He  called  me 
to  his  aid.  It  was  a  difficult  problem.  Guillaumin 
certainly  offered  me  his  help,  but  I  refused  it,  anxious 
to  find  out  how  to  do  it  myself.  It  took  me  a  long 
time,  but  I  succeeded  at  last,  which  was  satisfactory. 

There  was  a  large  field  open  to  me.  I  had  retained 
the  knowledge  I  had  acquired  as  an  instructor  of  re- 
cruits. It  was  not  a  question  of  worrying  the  men 
with  theories,  but  they  willingly  collected  to  have 


Socialism  359 

friendly  chats,  and  ended  by  enjoying  the  stances, 
where  one  evening,  after  having  explained  the  prin- 
ciples of  orientation  to  them,  I  taught  them  how  to 
recognise  the  Great  Bear  and  the  Polar  Star.  On 
other  days  we  went  into  other  matters :  to  do  with  the 
advance  under  fire,  of  the  artillery  and  infantry  (we 
knew  all  about  that!),  of  the  supply  of  ammunition 
and  the  commissariat;  or  of  subjects  vaster  still — 
Germany's  ambitions,  and  the  causes  of  the  present 
war.  When  we  were  marching  we  organised  competi- 
tions in  judging  distances.  We  picked  out  a  tree 
or  a  house,  and  then  each  one  had  to  calculate  how 
many  steps  he  expected  to  take,  and  count  them 
afterwards  to  see  how  far  out  he  was.  Lamalou 
proved  to  be  extraordinarily  gifted  in  this  respect. 
He  was  never  more  than  twenty  yards  out.  We  would 
find  a  way  of  making  use  of  that. 

After  a  few  tentative  ventures,  I  found  my  bent. 
I  had  always  been  interested  in  medicine.  A  hand- 
book on  hygiene,  which  De  Valpic  lent  me,  completed 
my  sketchy  equipment.  The  next  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  put  it  into  practice.  The  soldiers  suffered 
chiefly,  as  usual,  from  sore  feet — a  crop  of  blisters 
and  sores.  I  preached  cleanliness  first,  and  methodi- 
cal greasing.  But  the  sore  places,  some  of  which  were 
septic,  must  be  cured.  Most  of  the  men  seemed 
entirely  ignorant  of  how  to  treat  a  blister.  Guillau- 
min  and  I  arranged  a  demonstration  one  evening  with 
great  success.  Once  having  won  their  confidence,  we 
treated  them  for  various  little  ills — diluted  tincture  of 
iodine  did  wonders. 

One  great  danger  was  the  water,  which  caused  a 
great  deal  of  diarrhoea.  It  was  not  always  possible  to 
boil  the  contents  of  our  water-bottles.  I  had  some 


360  Ordeal  by  Fire 

permanganate  of  potash ;  a  few  crystals  placed  in  the 
water-buckets  assured  a  relative  sterilisation.  Our 
platoon  made  it  a  point  of  honour  to  have  as  few  men 
as  possible  at  sick  parade.  We  only  had  two  in  a 
week.  Trichet,  who  sprained  his  ankle,  wept  with 
rage  at  leaving  us. 

My  little  cures  were  appreciated.  Men  came  to 
ask  my  advice  now,  even  from  No.  i  platoon.  I  had 
some  idea  of  massage  and  set  up  a  surgery.  The 
men  appealed  to  me  in  doubtful  cases.  One  evening, 
I  remember,  the  party  sent  on  ahead  to  choose  the 
camp  had  picked  some  mushrooms  on  the  way. 
Breton  insisted  on  their  waiting  for  me.  I  really  was 
not  very  well  up  in  the  matter.  However,  I  did  not 
quite  like  the  look  of  the  valvular  formation  at  the 
base,  and  ordered  them  to  throw  them  away.  They 
obeyed  without  protesting.  I  learnt  shortly  after- 
wards from  De  Valpic,  that  it  had  saved  a  good 
many  lives. 

How  much  joy  I  got  out  of  my  disinterested  efforts ! 
Not  only  that  of  useful  labour  accomplished.  The 
incessant  contact,  our  conversations,  the  services 
rendered  mutually,  made  me  fonder  of  each  of  my 
companions  every  day.  I  was  getting  into  touch  with 
the  people  again.  I  no  longer  considered,  as  I  used 
to,  that  it  would  satisfy  me  to  live  in  the  bosom  of  a 
restricted  caste  of  beings  brought  up  in  the  same  way 
as  I  had  been.  I  suddenly  once  more  became  aware  of 
the  ascendency  of  certain  doctrines. 

Social  morality  had  always  seemed  to  be  a  poor 
morality  for  those  on  the  right  side  of  the  barrier,  as  I 
was.  Now  I  realised  my  mistake.  There  should 
be  neither  oppressors  nor  oppressed,  neither  domin- 
ators  nor  dominated, — alliance  and  not  confusion  of 


Socialism  361 

the  different  social  classes.  "Each  for  all  and  all  for 
each,"  as  the  old  saying  is.  Were  we  not  all  co-operat- 
ing with  the  same  heart  in  the  same  work  ?  If  between 
these  soldiers  and  me  there  was  a  dissimilarity  in 
education  and  disposition,  if  I,  at  their  head,  was  ex- 
empt from  the  most  thankless  fatigues,  did  that  pre- 
vent reciprocal  collaboration  and  esteem,  or  stop  any 
one  being  satisfied  with  their  fate?  No,  no.  Prunelle 
agreed;  the  chief  thing  was  that  each  class  should 
know  the  other,  then  it  would  not  be  long  before  they 
appreciated  each  other,  and  recognised  each  other  as 
brothers,  and  not  such  very  different  brothers  either! 
This  idea,  in  particular,  clung  to  me.  Disparities 
due  to  education  and  upbringing,  to  the  style  of  life, 
are,  to  a  certain  extent,  exterior.  How  little  they 
count  for  ih  comparison  with  the  tongue,  the  customs, 
and  disposition  which  are  shared  in  common  by  the 
sons  of  one  nation  and  which  draw  them  together. 
Between  the  people  and  the  aristocracy  the  difference 
is  simply  that  which  exists  between  youth  and  ripe 
middle  age.  The  people  are  like  a  young  and  lusty 
lad,  who  only  asks  to  be  allowed  to  grow !  What  were 
the  common  sense  of  an  Icard,  the  animation  of  a  Judsi, 
the  self-denial  of  a  Bouillon,  if  not  the  deep-rooted 
qualities  of  our  soil  and  race?  There  is  enjoyment  in 
breathing  them,  when  one  also  exhales  them! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A   TEMPTATION 

How  tired  we  were  that  evening.  Really  abso- 
lutely done.  We  had  been  marching  for  twenty-four 
hours,  almost  without  a  halt.  We  were  wandering 
in  the  middle  of  Argonne  in  that  part  of  the  Chalade, 
and  the  Four  de  Paris  which  were  to  be  mentioned 
so  often  in  the  communiques  later  on.  The  worst  of 
it  was  that  we  had  nothing  to  eat,  excep't  the  remains 
of  some  bread  crumbling  at  the  bottom  of  our  haver- 
sacks. We  regretted  having  wasted  the  biscuits  with 
which  we  had  been  so  liberally  provided  two  days 
before. 

There  was  a  prolonged  halt  in  the  forest.  At  one 
time  we  caught  sight  of  two  motor-buses  which  cut 
across,  following  a  transverse  roadway.  Our  rations  ? 
We  took  it  for  granted  and  rejoined  accordingly.  But 
perhaps  the  conductors  had  not  seen  us.  Several 
minutes  went  by.  The  commanding  officer  blew  his 
whistle,  and  off  we  had  to  go  again !  Another  march 
on  an  empty  stomach ! 

A  blast  of  recriminations  blew  from  No.  I  platoon. 
They  could  put  up  with  being  knocked  on  the  head, 
but  at  least  give  them  something  to  eat.  They  were 
being  cut  down  every  day  now.  Yesterday  there  was 
no  meat !  Without  rot,  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 
done  but  to ' '  get  down  "  to  it.  A  snooze  is  as  good  as  a 

362 


A  Temptation  363 

meal.  It  would  only  mean  that  a  few  would  be 
taken. 

They  went  on  all  the  same.  There  was  not  a  mur- 
mur among  our  men.  Judsi  still  tried  to  cheer  up  his 
companions,  but  they  were  n't  in  the  mood  for  it.  Bou- 
guet  struck  up  with  a  song,  but  they  joined  in  the 
refrain  only  once.  He  couldn't  sing  on  an  empty 
stomach  either.  And  the  rain  began,  heavy  rain  which 
soaked  us  through  to  the  skin  in  a  very  few  minutes. 

"Rotten  luck!"  Gaudereaux  jerked  out. 

We  went  on  without  a  halt,  through  the  downpour, 
against  the  wind.  We  were  on  a  by-road  which  soon 
got  spoilt  and  broken.  We  slithered  through  the  slush. 
Gusts  of  wind  beat  against  us,  water  was  dripping 
down  our  backs,  freezing  the  sweat  on  our  skins. 
That  lasted  for  another  two  hours.  A  dozen  miles 
or  so  without  a  pause.  No  one  protested,  each  step 
must  be  bringing  us  nearer  to  shelter.  There  was  only 
one  question  we  asked  ourselves,  in  an  agony  of  mind : 
Should  we  get  anything  to  eat  ? 

At  last  they  stopped  us,  two  companies  of  us,  in 
front  of  a  farm.  The  rest  of  the  battalion  went  on. 
The  buildings  already  sheltered  some  gunners — four 
batteries  of  them.  I  remember  their  greeting  which 
was  anything  but  cordial.  Oh,  we  were  the  last 
straw!  As  if  they  weren't  packed  like  sardines 
already!  Dirty  foot-sloggers  too!  (I  have  already 
mentioned  the  antagonism  between  the  different 
troops  which  was  exasperated  at  such  times.) 

Our  quartermasters  quarrelled.  But  the  first 
comers  blocked  up  the  coach-houses,  their  officers 
backed  them  up,  the  commanding  officer  had  quite 
rightly  reserved  the  only  bed  for  himself.  We  stood 
in  the  yard  for  a  long  time,  haggard  and  nurnb 


364  Ordeal  by  Fire 

with  cold.  We  were  finally  penned  in  the  stables — 
piggeries,  in  an  indescribable  state  of  filth,  and  reeking 
pestilentially.  Someone  went  to  get  straw — a  hand- 
ful per  man !  We  could  have  put  up  with  everything 
if  only  we  could  have  got  a  bite.  But  it  was  getting 
dark,  and  in  this  weather  all  hopes  of  the  ration  train 
hunting  us  out  were  dwindling.  The  gunners  had 
hastened  to  lay  hands  on  anything  that  the  farm  would 
produce  in  the  way  of  eatables,  bread,  milk,  eggs,  a 
real  raid.  They  finished  swallowing  these  provisions 
under  our  very  noses. 

I  can  see  us  in  that  filthy  stable.  De  Valpic  had 
just  lain  down  alongside  the  wall.  He  was  worn  out, 
and  wanted  to  sleep,  but  the  fits  of  coughing  which 
shook  him  made  him  reopen  his  eyes.  He  was  shiver- 
ing. We  all  had  faces  mottled  by  exhaustion  and 
starvation.  Lamalou  suddenly  got  up  with  an  oath : 

"Ohd !" 

There  was  a  crack  in  the  roof,  from  which  drops 
were  falling.  A  stream  of  water  was  soon  trickling 
down. 

Guillaumin  came  back.  He  had  been  to  have  a  look 
at  No.  i  platoon.  There  was  schism  in  the  Playoust 
"set."  Hourcade  and  Descroix,  it  seemed,  were  still 
in  possession  of  some  "ruti"  and  a  cheese.  Des- 
croix resigned  himself  to  sharing  it  and  favoured 
Playoust,  but  Hourcade  turned  a  deaf  ear.  Little 
Humel  would  get  nothing  out  of  him — or  the  sergeant- 
major  either.  They  neither  of  them  demanded  it, 
though  they  were  both  deadly  white  and  worn  out. 

Guillaumin  winked: 

"If  only  we  -could  find  some  way!     I.  say,  are. you; 
frightfully  done  up,  to  begin: with  ?  '•'    :.     .' . 

'•'Fit  as  a, fiddle,  I  don't  think!.  Why?"- 


A  Temptation  365 

"Look  here." 

He  confided  in  me  that  he  had  interviewed  the 
farmer's  wife.  There  was  not  a  village  anywhere 
near,  the  nearest  was  nine  miles  away,  and  had  been 
crammed  with  troops  for  the  last  week. 

"Well?" 

' '  But  there  was  another  farm  much  nearer,  a  rich 
one,  quite  hidden  in  the  woods.  Suppose  we  went 
to  see?" 

I  raised  some  objections,  for  form's  sake,  but  the 
adventure  attracted  me.  A  word  to  Bouillon.  He 
at  once  wanted  to  join  us.  We  told  no  one  else;  per- 
mission and  success  were  equally  uncertain.  So  we 
started  off.  It  was  getting  dark.  What  a  road  it 
was!  The  mud  was  eighteen  inches  thick  in  places. 
Torrents  of  rain  still,  and  the  gloom  was  deepening. 
To  begin  with  we  forced  ourselves  to  look  where  we 
were  putting  our  feet,  but  we  gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job. 
Squidge,  splosh!  We  stoically  followed  in  Guillau- 
min's  tracks.  We  sank  in  half-way  up  to  our  knees, 
and  came  near  to  losing  our  balance  or  getting  stuck. 

When  we  had  walked  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour, 
Guillaumin  began  to  get  worried.  Half  a  mile  the 
woman  had  told  him. 

We  were  lost?  We  thought  of  retracing  our  steps 
when  he  bumped  against  a  gate  in  the  dark. 

"Ow!  As  if  my  nose  wasn't  thick  enough  without 
that!" 

We  began  to  make  out  the  outlines  of  an  obstruc- 
tion. But  everything  seemed  to  be  shut  up.  No  light. 
We  went  to  knock  at  the  door.  Not  a  sound.  We 
knocked  louder. 

"Done!"  I  said. 

"We'll  soon  see!" 


366  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Guillaumin  raised  his  voice : 

"Two  petards  of  melinite  to  blow  up  your 
house ! ' ' 

A  few  seconds  passed.     Then  a  window  squeaked. 

"Who's  there?" 

"France." 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?    France. ' ' 

"France,  that's  quite  enough." 

" Wot  d'you  want?" 

"Someone  to  open  the  door  to  us. " 

"We  'aven't  got  nothing.'" 

"That's  a  fine  story!" 

"An  wot  abaht  the  Proosians?" 

"Will  you  let  us  in,  confound  you!" 

The  man  appeared  to  be  frightened,  and  muttered : 
"  'Arf  a  mo'  till  I  gits  into  me  breeches. " 

He  came  and  undid  the  bolts  ...  A  bent  old 
peasant,  carrying  a  candle  in  his  hand. 

"  'Ello,  on'y  three  of  you !  Might  'a  bin  fifty  by  the 
shindy  you  kicked  up!" 

He  seemed  to  me  to  regret  having  given  in  so  easily. 
We  went  into  a  low  room. 

"  Well  now, "  said  Guillaumin,  "What  can  you  give 
us  to  eat?" 

The  old  peasant  looked  us  up  and  down.  I  could 
read  in  his  face  the  mistrust  and  avarice  of  bad  breeds. 

'"Aven't  I  told  you  there's  nothin'?" 

Guillaumin  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

' '  What  do  you  live  on  ?     Air  ? " 

We  certainly  looked  like  marauders.  I  interfered 
to  reassure  the  man. 

"We'll  pay  you  all  right!" 

Guillaumin  whispered: 

"Don't  know  so  much  about  that." 


A  Temptation  367 

I  had  my  own  idea.  I  opened  my  purse  to  show 
the  silver  and  gold  in  it. 

The  old  fellow  considered  me.  He  looked  from 
my  hands  to  my  eyes  where  he  tried  to  read  my 
intentions. 

"For  you  three?" 

"For  us,  to  begin  with." 

"Hm!    Would  an  omelette  do  you?" 

"With  some  ham?" 

He  would  see. 

We  sat  down  at  the  table.  The  man  went  to  call 
at  an  inside  door. 

"Louise!" 

A  young  country  girl  appeared,  with  a  hypocritical 
expression  and  heavy  features.  She  lacked  real  grace, 
but  was  built  on  a  generous  scale,  her  waist  well- 
marked,  and  her  bosom  firm  beneath  the  dress  which 
she  had  popped  on  hurriedly. 

"My  eye!"  murmured  Bouillon. 

The  old  man  said  a  few  words  in  patois  and  the  girl 
knelt  down  in  front  of  the  grate  and  began  to  work  a 
bellows.  It  was  not  long  before  some  flames  sprang 
from  the  dying  embers.  In  a  hand's  turn  she  had  laid 
the  table  for  us.  Five  minutes  later  a  frothy  golden 
omelette  was  dished  up  for  us. 

We  had  never  been  so  ravenous.  We  simply  guzzled. 
We  had  taken  off  our  great  coats,  which  were  stiff 
with  rain.  When  his  first  pangs  were  assuaged, 
Guillaumin  began  to  cheer  up. 

"A  pretty  good  idea  of  mine,  what?" 

With  a  glance  at  the  girl  I  made  some  joke  under  my 
breath,  about  the  servant  girl  being,  perhaps,  the 
old  man's  mistress. 

Bouillon  was  eating  too  gluttonously  to  take  a  part 


368  Ordeal  by  Fire 

in  the  conversation,  but  he  laughed  continually  for 
no  reason  at  all,  pouring  down  bumpers  of  some  rather 
poor  wine  which  the  old  man  had  brought  us  with 
many  sour  looks.  His  face  was  turning  purple,  his 
dog's  eyes  glistened.  How  I  loved  him,  taking  his 
share  of  our  animal  contentment. 

The  peasant  seated  at  the  end  of  the  room  had 
lit  a  pipe  and  was  watching  us  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye. 

"It's  stupid  to  pay ! "  repeated  Guillaumin.  "Let's 
give  him  an  I  O  U. " 

His  funds  must  have  been  coming  to  an  end. 

"  Don't  worry !     This  is  my  show ! "  I  said. 

In  order  to  avoid  any  trouble,  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  pay  whatever  the  old  fellow  claimed. 

Guillaumin  ventured  to  suggest : 

"I  say  we  ought  to  take  something  back  to  De 
Valpic." 

"And  to  our  poilus!" 

I  called  the  old  man,  who  got  up  slowly  and  came 
to  us  looking  rather  anxious  but  crafty  too. 

"And  now  what  about  something  for  our  pals?" 

"They  ain't  comin',  are  they?" 

"That  depends." 

"Wot  does  it  depend  on?" 

"Upon  what  you  give  us  for  them. " 

This  seemed  to  upset  him.  He  sniffed  and  stopped 
talking. 

"When  I  say  give,"  I  corrected  myself,  "I  mean 
sell." 

"'Ow  many  of  'em  is  there?" 

"About  forty." 

The  peasant  threw  up  his  arms  like  a  clockwork 
figure. 


A  Temptation  369 

"Forty.  Jokin',  ain't  you?  Now  if  it  'ad  a'  bin 
five  or  six,  p'raps  we  might  'a  managed  some'ow!" 

Guillaumin  rapped  on  the  table,  and  assumed  a 
threatening  air,  which  was  rendered  even  more 
grotesque  and  terrifying  by  his  great  nose. 

"You'd  better  take  care  we  don't  bring  them  along! 
I've  an  idea  they'd  manage  to  find  something!" 

The  old  man's  face  hardened.     I  again  intervened. 

"I  tell  you  we'll  pay.  Now  tell  me  the  price  of  a 
chicken." 

"Ain't  got  none!" 

"What,  not  in  your  cellar?" 

"Ain't  got  none. " 

"Will  you  take  ten  francs  apiece?" 

"Ten  francs?" 

He  rubbed  his  hands. 

"That's  talkin,'  that  is!" 

Guillaumin  exclaimed: 

"Five  francs,  not  a  halfpenny  more.  It's  pure 
robbery!"  •  t\,, 

I  continued : 

"I  should  want  several!" 

"How  many?" 

I  looked  at  the  others  interrogatively. 

"Eight  or  ten — a  dozen  if  you've  got  them!" 

' '  A  dozen  chickens  at  ten  francs  ?  That's  a  hundred 
and  twenty  francs?" 

"Yes." 

"I'll  just  have  a  look,  but  I  won't  promise  nothing ! " 
he  said  as  he  went  off. 

When  he  had  gone  out,  without  bothering  about  the 
girl  who  was  leaning  against  the  chimney-piece,  and 
watching  us  slyly,  Guillaumin  slated  me.  Ten  francs 
apiece.  He  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  Was  I 

*4 


37°  Ordeal  by  Fire 

crazy?  A  hundred  and  twenty  francs!  No.  It 
couldn't  be  allowed.  I  should  want  the  cash  some  day 
or  other.  I  didn't  realise  .  .  .  The  old  chap  was 
sickening.  It  would  serve  him  right  if  we  cleared 
him  out  of  everything  and  left  him  an  order  paya- 
ble at  the  end  of  the  war.  So  that  was  settled? 
What? 

But  I  shook  my  head,  and  stuck  to  it.  I  had  spent  a 
relatively  infinitesimal  sum  up  till  now.  The  chance 
was  too  tempting ! 

The  peasant  reappeared.  He  brought  the  poultry 
back  with  him,  tied  by  their  legs.  They  were  squall- 
ing hard  and  were  certainly  very  fine  birds.  His 
forehead  was  wrinkled;  he  must  be  afraid  we  might 
give  him  the  slip  and  be  off  with  the  booty.  His  face 
cleared  when  I  laid  the  purse  on  the  table.  But  when 
I  pulled  a  hundred-franc  note  out  of  my  pocket, 
the  old  fellow  waived  it  aside,  and  pointed  to  the 
purse. 

"None  o'  that  now!  You've  got  that  amount  in 
solid  gold!" 

"Take  this  note?"  I  retorted. 

"Give  me  gold,  gold!" 

"Why  on  earth  should  I?" 

I  had  not  foreseen  this  pretext  for  cavilling  when  I 
had  flattered  myself  on  avoiding  a  scene.  I  refused 
to  give  in.  The  old  chap  kicked  against  the  pricks. 
Paper-money?  Wot  good  was  that  to  any  one  nowa- 
days, you  wouldn't  get  a  hunk  of  bread  for  it! 

He  obviously  distrusted  me.  I  was  on  the  point 
of  losing  my  temper.  Guillaumin  angrily  dubbed  the 
old  man  a  robber  and  a  blooming  Bosche.  The 
latter  got  annoyed  and  made  as  if  to  take  back  his 
poultry.  Bouillon  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  me,  and  was 


A  Temptation  371 

only  waiting  for  a  sign  to  hurl  himself  upon  the  old 
man. 

For  a  fantastical  instant  I  was  tempted  to  let  him 
have  his  way.  I  was  enraged,  and  disgusted.  More 
than  that,  I  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  longing  to 
loot.  It  would  be  a  wonderful  opportunity.  What 
risk  should  we  run?  None  at  all.  It  would  simply 
be  one  more  picturesque  scene  to  add  to  our  store  of 
memories. 

At  that  moment,  the  servant  girl  happened  to  cross 
the  bottom  of  the  room.  Her  dress  fell  into  lines 
which  suggested  the  rounded  form  beneath.  Bouillon 
was  looking  at  her  too,  and  Guillaumin  also.  His 
big  red  nose  was  quivering.  The  blood  rushed  to 
my  head,  and  desire  took  possession  of  me.  We  all 
three  exchanged  a  look  of  feverish  bestiality.  Plunder 
the  old  man,  violate  the  girl.  Nothing  could  be  easier 
— some  strange  madness  urged  us  on — the  beast  in  us 
was  raising  its  head. 

A  vision  of  Jeannine  passed  through  my  mind,  but 
it  held  no  power  to  restrain  me,  for  was  it  not  purely 
a  physical  impulse?  It  did  not  count  in  my  eyes. 
No  one  would  ever  know  anything  about  it,  I  repeated 
to  myself.  Why  not  indulge  this  whim?  It  was  a 
sinister  moment.  We  had  each  taken  a  step  towards 
the  girl,  whose  face  contracted. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AT   PEACE   WITH   MYSELF 

AND  then,  after  all,  something  stopped  me,  some- 
thing I  had  never  experienced  before.  Was  it  pre- 
judice? Or  moral  restraint?  I  had  no  time  to 
examine  my  feelings.  Was  it  self-respect?  Yes, 
that,  without  doubt.  No  one  would  ever  know 
anything  about  it,  but  I  should  know  about  it  myself! 

"  Make  up  your  mind!"  I  said  to  the  man. 

Had  he  an  inkling  of  the  danger  he  had  been  in? 
In  any  case  he  acquiesced  without  a  word,  and  took 
the  note,  to  which  I  added  a  louis.  • 

I  commandeered  the  rest  of  the  bread,  and  three 
dozen  eggs,  which  the  girl  was  to  boil  till  they  were 
hard.  She  bustled  about,  but  it  took  some  time. 

I  paid  for  everything  at  three  times  its  value,  with- 
out turning  a  hair.  The  old  man  got  a  second  louis, 
and  to  show  his  satisfaction,  threw  in  a  packet  of 
salt! 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  our  return  journey.  Bouillon 
had  hung  a  cord  round  his  neck  with  the  poultry 
dangling  at  each  end  of  it,  in  two  bunches.  They 
struggled  and  made  a  deafening  din  and  twice  over 
almost  tripped  him  up.  He  gravely  warned  them: 

' '  If  you  do  that  a  third  time,  I  shall  lose  my  temper ! " 

Thirty  yards  farther  on,  he  stopped. 

"Got  a  pin?" 

372 


At  Peace  with  Myself  373 

I  handed  him  one  without  understanding  why  he 
wanted  it. 

He  turned  away.  I  became  aware  of  a  wild  flap- 
ping, and  then  a  faint  rattle.  ' '  Next  please ! ' ' 

"I'll  learn  'em  not  to  be  so  bloomin'  fond  o'  flies!" 

He  pricked  them  behind  the  head,  one  after  the 
other,  sighing. 

"If  only  they  was  some  o'  them  Bosches!" 

When  he  entered  the  stable  in  front  of  us  half  an 
hour  later,  with  the  chaplet  of  chickens  round  his  neck, 
the  men  were  stupefied.  Then  an  uproar  arose. 

"Oh!  the  cannibal!"  cried  Judsi. 

"Good  biz;  grub  at  last!" 

The  men  who  were  asleep  had  to  be  shaken  and 
roused  up.  Their  faces  broke  into  broad  smiles,  their 
eyes  lit  up.  Things  went  very  quickly  when  once 
they  were  all  up.  Some  of  them  had  already  been 
told  off  to  pluck,  to  light  fires,  and  do  the  roasting. 
Everyone  hurried  into  the  yard.  Guillaumin  and  I 
slipped  down  beside  De  Valpic  and  told  him  all  about 
our  pranks.  Guillaumin  gaily  gave  him  an  account  of 
the  longing  which  had  seized  us,  to  despoil  the  old 
man,  and  violate  the  girl.  It  was  a  tremendous  joy  to 
have  a  conscience  clear  enough  to  be  able  to  joke 
about  it.  De  Valpic  smiled  in  response.  One  felt 
how  his  whole  being  was  yearning  for  the  nourish- 
ment of  which  he  had  been  deprived  for  nearly  forty- 
eight  hours. 

We  went  to  supervise  the  cooking.  In  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  the  men  had  built  up  piles  of  branches,  and- 
succeeded  in  lighting  them,  though  the  yard  was  soak- 
ing. The  chickens  had  been  plucked  and  dressed  and 
were  roasting  fast,  threaded  on  to  bayonets  which: 


374  Ordeal  by  Fire 

willing  volunteers  were  turning  conscientiously  under 
Gaufreteau's  direction.  By  his  orders,  too,  bowls 
were  put  under  them  to  catch  the  fat  dripping  from 
them.  In  half  an  hour's  time,  he  pronounced  the 
birds  cooked  to  a  turn.  We  presided  over  the  division. 
Nothing  was  to  go  out  of  the  platoon! 

The  battalion  sergeant-major  came  and  hung  about. 

"Halloa.     Some  looting  been  going  on!" 

" No, "  said  Bouillon,  "the  sergeant  paid,  and  a  good 
price  too." 

Ravelli  stood  in  the  mud  near  by,  and  sniffed  the 
good  smell.  But  a  remnant  of  dignity  forbade  him  to 
beg.  We  ended  by  taking  pity  on  him,  and  offering 
him  a  fine  fleshy  bone,  which  he  set  to  work  to  gnaw 
like  a  dog.  , 

I  was  tormented  for  quite  a  long  time — poor  wretches 
that  we  are — by  the  paltry  fear  that  the  men  might 
not  realise  to  the  full  to  whom  they  owed  the  windfall. 
They  had  quite  cheered  up,  and  I  saw  them  grouped 
round  the  fires  which  still  flickered,  and  lit  up  their 
delighted  faces,  chewing  the  remains  of  their  bones 
and  munching  their  eggs.  Perhaps  they  imagined 
that  the  company's  mess-balance  had  paid  for  the 
feast.  In  any  case  their  gratitude  to  my  companions 
was  just  as  great  as  it  was  to  me.  I  should  have 
liked  to  monopolise  it ! 

Then  I  shook  off  this  paltry  thought.  What  was 
all  this  about  benefactors  and  debtors.  A  lot  there 
was  to  be  proud  about,  in  having  paid,  when  I  had 
the  money  to  pay  with.  One  felt  that  the  good  fellows 
would  every  one  of  them  be  capable  of  a  similar  action, 
rather  than  surprised  at  it ! 

Candour,  simplicity  of  soul.  Another  effort.  I 
was  pulling  myself  up  to  it. 


At  Peace  with  Myself  375 

Guillaumin  and  I  had  reserved  one  whole  chicken 
for  ourselves.  We  took  the  best  half  of  it  to  De  Valpic. 
Alas !  his  appetite  failed  after  the  first  mouthfuls,  and 
he  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  through  it. 

We  had  decided  to  offer  the  captain  a  wing.  Guillau- 
min, who  had  undertaken  to  be  the  ambassador,  soon 
came  back.  Ribet  had  refused  it — oh,  as  nicely  as 
possible  assuring  Guillaumin  that  he  needed  nothing. 
If  we  had  a  portion  over,  let  it  be  for  one  of  his  men, 
who  had  their  packs  to  carry! 

Henriot  must  have  got  wind  of  this  reply,  for  his 
was  identical.  The  third  one,  Delafosse,  we  knew 
nothing  about  him ;  nobody  thought  about  him.  But 
Breton,  when  he  was  invited,  did  not  turn  up  his  nose 
at  it,  and  came  to  revive  himself  by  us.  He  con- 
gratulated us: 

"These  bachelors  knew  how  to  look  after  them- 
selves— and  no  mistake!" 

And  what  about  the  Playoust  set.  De  Valpic 
having  timidly  suggested  that  we  might — Guillaumin 
exploded : 

"Never!  Low-down  cads  like  that!  Why  they'd 
let  us  starve  without  turning  a  hair. " 

I  backed  him  up,  and  De  Valpic  said  no  more. 

We  three  each  put  part  of  the  remains  on  one  side. 
It  was  rather  shocking,  I  admitted  to  myself,  to  be 
thinking  of  our  future  hunger,  when  comrades  at  hand 
were  suffering  the  pangs  of  present  hunger. 

But  after  all !  I  had  done  enough  for  others  to  last 
me  for  one  day ! 

I  had  gone  out  into  the  yard  again.  It  was  almost 
deserted  now,  but  I  came  across  Humel.  He  pre- 
tended not  to  see  me.  His  cap,  which  was  cocked 


376  Ordeal  by  Fire 

over  one  ear,  gave  him  a  cheeky  look,  but  I  caught 
sight  of  his  haggard  face  and  sunken  cheeks  by  the 
light  of  one  of  the  bonfires  which  was  still  smouldering. 
I  turned  round : 

"I  say,  Humel!" 

He  stopped,  and  aggressively  snapped: 

' '  Well  ?     What  do  you  want  ? ' ' 

1 '  You've  had  nothing,  have  you  ? ' ' 

"Had  nothing  .  .  .  what  do  you  mean?" 

"To  get  your  teeth  into ! " 

He  hesitated : 

"A  lot  you  care!" 

I  went  up  to  him,  and  put  my  hand  on  his 
shoulder: 

"Like  a  bit  of  chicken?" 

He  made  a  movement  as  if  to  free  himself,  and  then 
thought  better  of  it,  and  said  more  gently: 

"Have  you  got  some  left?" 

"Yes,  and  a  hard-boiled  egg.     Wait  a  bit!" 

I  went  back  into  the  piggery,  and  very  stealthily — I 
did  not  want  Guillaumin  to  see  me — took  out  my  mess- 
tin,  which  contained  my  provisions  for  the  next  day, 
then  I  rejoined  Humel. 

"Here  you  are." 

We  went  and  sat  down  in  the  shade  on  the  curb  of 
the  well. 

"You  can  use  my  mess-tin. " 

The  poor  boy  began  to  eat  hurriedly,  and  in  silence. 
I  told  him,  in  a  joking  tone,  the  story  of  our  expedition; 
and  meanwhile  stealthily  examined  his  thin  profile. 
He  was  a  mere  boy.  A  younger  brother,  this  lad  too, 
younger  not  only  in  years  .  .  .  He  was  thirsty. 
I  pulled  up  a  bucket  of  water  for  him  and  we  drank 
out  of  the  same  mug. 


At  Peace  with  Myself  377 

Then  making  a  violent  effort  to  get  over  what  I 
think  was  timidity  he  said  to  me: 

"Thanks  very  much. " 

I  replied: 

"Look  here,  old  chap,  don't  you  think  we  ought  all 
to  be  pals?" 

As  he  nodded  in  agreement,  I  ventured  on  to  more 
ticklish  ground.  With  all  sorts  of  precautions,  and 
wordy  extenuations,  I  let  him  see  how  necessary  it  was, 
in  the  present  circumstances,  not  to  let  the  men's 
morale  be  shaken.  It  was  for  us  in  particular,  who 
mixed  with  the  troops  to  preach  it  to  them,  and  to 
practise  what  we  preached.  There  were  so  many  shin- 
ing reasons  to  hope.  Complaints  were  so  harmful. 

It  was  a  dangerous  subject,  I  repeat.  Humel  was 
already  chafing  under  my  remarks  and  beginning  to 
protest — (Where  is  the  man  who  will  submit  to  being 
taught  his  business?) — I  went  off  at  a  tangent,  just 
in  time,  and  roundly  abused  Playoust  and  Descroix 
— Humel  I  affected  to  accept,  to  consider  that  as  far 
as  he  was  able  to,  he  tried  to  react  against  a  trouble- 
some state  of  mind ;  I  considered  him  the  only  N.  C.  O. 
who  counted  in  No.  I  platoon,  as  De  Valpic  was  too 
ill  but  I  hoped  that  he  would  redouble  his  efforts ! 

The  most  transparent  ruses  were  successful.  Humel 
gave  up  rebelling.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  flattered 
himself  that  he  was  like  the  portrait  I  drew  of  him,  but 
he  nodded  approvingly.  When  you  catch  people 
doing  wrong  they  are  so  grateful  to  you  when  you  do 
not  humiliate  them. 

We  shook  hands  heartily  when  we  separated.  I 
kept  his  youthful  fist  in  mine  for  a  minute : 

" Au  revoir,  my  lad!" 

"See  you  to-morrow!" 


378  Ordeal  by  Fire 

One  more  on  our  side,  perhaps ! 

I  went  to  lie  down  on  our  dung-heap.  My  com- 
panions were  already  asleep.  I  looked  affectionately 
at  Bouillon  and  Guillaumin  for  a  moment — then  I 
scribbled  a  few  lines  to  Jeannine,  and  lay  down  at 
peace  with  myself. 


BOOK  VIII 
September  2nd-^th 


CHAPTER  X 
NEWS  AT  LAST! 

THE  next  day  reinforcements  arrived  from  our 
depot.  There  were  forty  men  for  the  company,  one 
of  whom  was  an  N.  C.  0.  called  Langlois — seven 
men  for  the  section. 

The  poor  wretches  were  very  much  depressed. 
They  had  been  detrained  at  Bar-le-Duc,  and  sent  off 
to  find  us,  in  charge  of  a  subaltern.  They  had  been 
wandering  about  for  three  days,  with  little  or  no  food. 
They  were  worn  out  when  they  joined  us.  Their 
feet  were  bleeding,  and  in  their  eyes  was  the  reflection 
of  horrible  visions.  Oh,  those  fields  of  corpses!  And 
the  smell !  Several  of  them  were  sick  once  more  at  the 
mere  recollection  of  it.  Or  again,  in  other  places — 
those  bodies  buried  in  haste — the  arms  and  feet  stick- 
ing out  of  the  ground!  And  then,  on  the  second 
evening  they  had  suddenly  found  themselves  in  the 
firing  line.  Bullets  whizzed  past  their  ears — Zzp, 
Zzp — and  shells  surrounded  them.  Several  of  their 
men  had  already  been  killed. 

379 


380  Ordeal  by  Fire 

It  must  be  added  that  these  men  left  F five  days 

before  under  a  gloomy  impression.  News  had  just 
got  through  of  our  regiment  of  regulars  who  since  the 
very  beginning  had  been  fighting  a  few  miles  away  from 
us,  though  we  had  never  come  across  them.  And  what 
news  it  was!  Leaving  Longuyon  on  the  morning  of 
the  2 1st,  engaged  that  evening  at  Ethes,  and  thrown 
back  on  Tellencourt,  they  had  been,  so  to  speak, 
volatilised,  during  those  two  days.  Their  losses  had 
been  enormous.  One  battalion  had  been  wiped  out 
and  another  was  missing — the  only  hope  was  that 
the  whole  of  it  might  have  been  taken  prisoners — the 
third  had  been  saved  by  the  self-possession  of  a 
company  commander. 

When  one  thought  of  the  recruiting,  to  a  great 
extent  local — The  regulars!  All  the  young  harvest! 
The  flower  of  the  country!  A  great  many  of  our 
poilus  had  a  younger  brother,  sometimes  two  or  three, 
among  these  troops  which  were  said  to  be  extermin- 
ated. They  were  to  be  seen  with  anxious  eyes,  and 
quivering  nostrils,  hazarding  some  name  or  other,  in  an 
agony  of  suspense.  Details  were  generally  lacking, 
but  a  trenchant  reply  would  sometimes  come: 

"Killed,  killed!" 

"Killed?" 

"Exactly." 

What  a  blow  it  was.  Some  of  them  staggered,  but 
most  of  them  bowed  their  heads  and  said  nothing. 
Then  seized  with  compassion,  I  would  go  up  to  them. 

"Poor  old  chap!"  I  soothed  them  with  a  vague 
hope — how  many  of  the  missing  would  turn  up  again  ? 

What  I  was  more  anxious  about  than  anything  else 
was,  as  may  be  imagined,  the  general  situation.  What 
was  happening?  I  feverishly  questioned  Langlois. 


News  at  Last  1  381 

He  was  a  schoolmaster  too,  but  from  Paris.  Play- 
oust's  set  had  immediately  tried  to  get  hold  of  him, 
but  he  made  it  quite  clear  that  he  intended  to  remain 
neutral,  on  good  terms  with  us.  He  had  an  interest- 
ing head.  He  was  sunburnt,  and  had  intensely  blue 
eyes,  a  big  nose  with  a  narrow  bridge,  and  a  determined 
chin.  Besides  that,  he  was  slim  and  muscular,  and  had 
a  graceful  carriage.  There  was  a  look  of  a  musket- 
eer or  condottiere  about  him — a  look  which  was 
deceptive  for  that  matter,  as  I  soon  realised.  He  was 
a  good  sort,  but  nothing  beyond  that.  His  intelli- 
gence was  limited. 

During  his  weeks  at  the  depot  everything  seemed 
to  havfe  rolled  off  him,  like  water  off  a  duck's  back, 
without  making  the  faintest  impression.  He  was 
eager  for  news,  no  doubt,  but  he  was  far  from  attach- 
ing to  it  the  tragic  and  capital  importance  which 
clothed  the  least  occurrence  in  this  hour  of  our  history. 

It  was  disappointing  and  exasperating  to  me.  I 
would  have  given  a  lot  to  meet  Fortin  and  have  a  talk 
with  him.  We  had  just  heard  that  he  had  become  a 
humble  private  again,  and  was  with  the  reinforcement 
detachment. 

However,  I  set  about  extracting  all  the  news  from 
Langlois,  bit  by  bit,  and  finished  by  attaining  my  end. 

To  begin  with,  the  period  of  optimism  had  continued. 
The  enemy  had  been  intercepted  on  the  Meuse,  and  at 
Liege,  Namur,  and  Dinant.  Our  offensive  was  devel- 
oping at  Mulhouse  and  towards  Morhange.  That 
had  gone  on  until  Friday,  the  2ist.  That  day's 
communique  still  gave  a  favourable  picture  of  the 
situation.  There  were  two  shadows  on  it,  however: 
the  day  was  described  as  having  been  "less  fortunate" 
in  Lorraine,  and  the  occupation  of  Brussels.  The  next 


382  Ordeal  by  Fire 

day,  there  was  nothing  very  new.  A  huge  battle  was 
going  on.  The  guns  were  talking. 

Complete  silence  for  two  days.  On  the  third — it 
was  Tuesday — the  communique  announced,  in  terms 
very  flattering  to  our  troops,  that  the  attack  had  had 
no  decisive  results  and  that  we  had  fallen  back  on  our 
covering  positions.  The  casualties  were  heavy  on  both 
sides.  One  paper  claimed  to  see  a  second  Valmy  in 
the  engagement. 

But  since  then  things  had  been  going  from  bad  to 
worse !  To  how  great  an  extent  ?  I  pressed  Langlois, 
and  implored  him  to  try  and  recall  the  smallest  details 
— the  text  even  of  the  bulletins.  We  were  holding 
out  ?  Apparently.  Towards  Nancy  our  luck  seemed 
to  be  re-establishing  itself.  In  the  North?  Oh. 
Langlois  admitted  that  he  really  knew  nothing  about 
the  North.  I  pretended  to  be  as  calm  as  possible  in 
order  to  encourage  him.  Come  along!  The  daily 
reports?  What  did  they  point  to?  They  were  per- 
plexing— "  The  English  have  lost  a  little  ground  on  our 
extreme  left  ..."  "We  have  had  to  bring  our  line 
slightly  farther  back  ..."  What  else?  Ever  since 
the  day  following  "Charleroi"  they  had  talked  of 
German  patrol  parties  venturing  right  up  to  near 
Douai  and  Valenciennes.  A  note  which  had  an 
official  twang  about  it  had  appeared  on  this  subject. 
There  was  no  cause  for  alarm!  Merely  isolated 
instances!  That  was  all  very  well!  But  the  same 
day  we  read  in  the  socialistic  manifesto  that  "Our 
richest  and  most  cultivated  regions  are  invaded." 

"And  what  about  the  Russians?"  I  asked. 
"  Haven't  they  come  in  yet?" 

"Yes — things  are  going  all  right  down  there 
apparently." 


News  at  Last!  383 

There  were  no  details,  of  course. 

The  detachment  had  left  F ,  Langlois  continued, 

at  midday  on  the  29th, — the  Paris  dailies  had  just 
arrived. 

This  time  there  was  a  communique  which  was 
undeniably  odd.  Even  he  had  been  startled.  He 
quoted  the  exact  text:  "The  situation  on  our  front, 
from  the  Somme  to  the  Vosges,  is  exactly  the  same  to-day 
as  it  was  yesterday. " 

From  the  Somme  to  the  Vosges!  It  was  my  turn 
to  get  a  shock.  What!  Then  the  Huns  were  at 
Amiens!  Yes,  everything  went  to  prove  it.  Even 
nearer  perhaps?  They  had  heard  a  rumour  on  their 
train  journey,  of  sanguinary  engagements  at  Bapaume 
and  at  Peronne.  Other  reports  were  circulating. 
Soisson  and  St.  Quentin  were  said  to  have  been  cut 
off,  the  Compiegne  forest  on  fire. 

I  would  not  believe  it  all.  I  clung  to  the  com- 
munique of  the  2/th.  But  in  any  case  it  was  a 
terrible  awakening.  Even  Guillaumin,  who  joined  us, 
was  not  incredulous,  for  once.  An  orderly  had  just 
confirmed  the  news  of  the  investment  of  La  Fere. 
We  put  this  fortress  down  as  being  about  halfway 
between  the  frontier  and  Paris.  Was  the  capital  in 
danger?  Not  yet,  after  all!  We  pictured  a  huge 
force  barring  the  way  to  the  intrenched  camp. 

What  worried  me  most  was  public  opinion  which, 
with  us,  is  so  nervous  and  impressionable.  There  was 
good  reason  to  be  calm  about  the  morale  of  the  army. 
But  the  departments  in  the  background.  We  were 
given  a  gloomy  reflection  of  the  spirit  reigning  there 
now.  .  .  . 

And  the  government  especially?  I  had  a  vague 
dread  of  some  faltering,  some  lack  of  real  energy  in 


384  Ordeal  by  Fire 

this  coterie  of  middle-aged  bourgeois,  who  had  grown 
up  amid  the  dejection  which  had  followed  the  defeat, 
and  had  been  softened  by  forty  years  of  enjoyable 
egoism.  Would  they  hold  out?  What  did  we  know 
of  it  ?  We  had  got  no  more  letters  since  the  game  had 
been  played  and  lost  in  the  North. 

Certain  facts  which  I  learnt  from  Langlois  were  not 
calculated  to  reassure  me.  The  cabinet  had  been 
modified!  Socialists  in  the  Ministry.  If  it  should 
mean  the  road  to  some  humiliating  pact  ?  There  was 
still  a  fear  of  civil  war,  in  which  France  would  drown 
herself  in  a  fratricidal  struggle  or,  worse  than  all  else, 
fling  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  infamous  wretch  who 
would  speak  of  peace ! 

I  kept  my  anxiety  to  myself  in  my  continuous 
endeavour  not  to  shake  any  one's  courage.  I  watched 
my  poilus  with  delight  as  they  exerted  themselves  to 
cheer  up  the  new-comers.  The  Judsis  and  Lamalous 
laughed  at  their  glum  looks. 

"Like  to  know  wot  they'd  say,  if  they'd  seen  any 
realfightin'!  ..." 

They  pulled  their  legs,  inventing  fantastic  feats  of 
prowess  by  the  regiment,  or  the  company.  The 
taking  of  "Beauclair"  for  instance!  Judsi  often 
returned  to  the  subject  of  that  exploit.  They  had 
found  more  burnt  and  spitted  Bosches  in  there  than 
you'd  believe  possible.  A  carpet,  no  a  pile,  of  them 
rising  right  up  to  the  first  storey.  Maddening  for  the 
ground-floor  people  of  whom  there  was  not  a  sign  to 
be  seen. 

The  audience  was  greatly  tickled. 

"Now  you'll  do.  W'en  a  man  knows  'ow  to  laugh, 
'e'll  make  a  soldier!" 


News  at  Last!  385 

Thereupon,  news  arrived.  We  had  been  attached 
to  the  4th  Corps  again,  and  were  to  be  entrained. 
What  for?  Paris.  We  were  to  form  a  part  of  the 
troops  constituting  the  mobile  defence. 

There  was  general  rejoicing.  Paris!  A  certain 
number  of  the  men  came  from  the  city  or  the  suburbs, 
and  even  for  the  others  the  magic  syllables  evoked 
endless  delights.  What  ho!  for  the  picture  palaces 
and  the  pretty  girls,  in  their  first  free  hour.  .  .  . 

It  opened  up  a  perspective  of  repose  for  everyone, 
after  so  much  toil. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   CATHEDRAL 

THE  notice  had  reached  us  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  arrived 
at  St.  Menehould,  of  which  we  saw  nothing  but  the 
station.  At  six  we  were  in  the  train. 

Just  as  it  was  getting  under  way — I  was  looking 
through  the  ventilator — there  was  a  sudden  panic  on 
the  platform.  Employees  and  foremen  began  to  run, 
flinging  their  arms  up.  What  was  it?  There  was  a 
noise,  I  understood.  A  Taube  was  flying  over  the 
station.  The  men  crowded  to  the  doors.  We  had 
no  time  to  distinguish  anything.  A  tremendous  ex- 
plosion flung  us  on  top  of  each  other,  and  a  certain 
number  fell  on  to  the  floor  of  the  waggon. 

A  bomb  had  just  fallen  thirty  yards  from  us. 
There  were  instant  yells  and  a  torrent  of  smoke.  A 
waggon  was  pulverised  on  one  of  the  adjacent  lines. 
Three  men  killed,  and  six  wounded  we  heard.  And 
two  hours'  delay  for  us. 

So  we  did  not  get  away  till  night.  The  beginning  of 
our  misfortunes!  We  had  not  been  going  twenty 
minutes,  when  we  pulled  up  with  a  violent  jerk.  An 
avalanche  of  rifles  and  packs — contusions  and 
confusion. 

The  lantern  was  shivered,  and  went  out.  A  chorus 
of  imprecations  exploded  in  the  darkness.  We  struck 

386 


The  Cathedral  387 

some  matches.  No  serious  damage  done.  Prtmelle's 
face  was  bleeding,  and  his  glasses  were  broken.  He 
had  a  splinter  of  glass  at  the  edge  of  his  eyelashes. 
He  was  lucky.  He  might  have  lost  an  eye. 

And  outside  ?  We  leant  out.  Shadows  were  swarm- 
ing on  the  ballast,  some  limping,  others  frightened. 
Bouchut  had  been  sent  for  and  came  up  in  a  fury  shout- 
ing at  the  top  of  his  voice.  An  orderly  was  standing 
in  front  of  each  waggon  inquiring  in  a  surly  voice: 

' '  Any  casualties  here  ? ' ' 

A  commonplace  stoppage.  The  tail  carriages  had 
turned  over,  and  the  last  one  which  contained  among 
other  things  the  officers'  equipments  was  reduced  to 
atoms,  to  the  great  glee  of  the  men. 

"We'll  lend  'em  our  tooth-brushes!"  said  Judsi. 

They  were  not  so  delighted  about  it,  when  they  heard 
that  some  more  men  had  been  killed  there,  four  or 
five  apparently,  including  Sepot,  the  chief  laboratory 
man,  a  good  sort,  whom  everybody  loved. 

"  If  this  sorter  thing  goes  on, "  Lamalou  said,  "there 
won't  be  many  of  us  by  the  time  we  gets  to  Paris!" 

The  stoppage  was  prolonged.  I  got  out  and  walked 
up  and  down  for  a  little  while.  The  sky  was  overcast, 
and  there  was  no  moon.  I  got  back.  Our  train 
hooted  dismally  in  the  darkness,  like  a  ship  in  distress. 

I  fell  asleep,  and  we  started  off  again,  and  went 
bumping  drowsily  on  our  way. 

We  woke  up  at  dawn  to  find  we  had  halted  again, 
and  were  not  to  go  on  for  an  hour  at  least.  The  cooks 
were  getting  coffee  ready.  There  was  an  autumnal 
feeling  in  the  air.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  and  we  stamped 
our  feet.  It  was  a  characteristic  landscape,  with 
its  billows  of  bald  hillocks  studded  with  little  woods 


388  Ordeal  by  Fire 

of  conventional  shapes.  .  .  .  The  surroundings  of 
the  Camp  de  Chalons. 

De  Valpic  was  shivering  and  stayed  in  his  waggon. 
Guillaumin  said  to  me  below  his  breath : 

"I  wonder — if  I'm  dreaming?" 

"Why?" 

"I  thought  I  heard  ..." 

"Well?" 

"Firing!" 

I  listened  attentively.  No,  there  was  nothing.  I 
chaffed  him  on  his  hallucinations!  Was  he  profiting 
by  Ravelli's  teaching?  Firing  indeed!  An  excellent 
joke!  We  had  left  the  enemy  more  than  a  hundred 
and  thirty  miles  behind. 

Guillaumin  did  not  persist.  The  time  which  had 
been  fixed  passed  by.  Then  we  were  told  that  we 
should  be  there  for  another  two  hours. 

I  left  the  railway  lines  and  went  off  into  the  open 
fields. 

I  noticed  that  our  convoy  was  not  the  only  one 
which  had  been  stopped  there.  The  black  line 
stretched  away  as  far  as  eye  could  see,  bordered  with 
a  swarm  of  uniforms,  and  smoking  bonfires.  The  line 
was  badly  blocked. 

As  I  had  plenty  of  time  before  me,  the  idea  occurred 
to  me  of  climbing  the  nearest  hill.  I  followed  a  chalky 
path. 

I  had  imagined  that  this  crest  was  quite  near  by, 
and  that  I  should  reach  it  without  any  difficulty.  I 
only  breasted  it  after  twenty  minutes  of  breathless 
climbing. 

A  violent  north  wind  lashed  me,  up  there,  and  dried 
my  perspiration.  A  vast  panorama  lay  before  me:  a 


The  Cathedral  389 

series  of  desolate-looking  humps  covered  the  ground, 
some  of  them  bristling  with  vine  poles,  supporting 
the  good  Champagne  grapes.  I  took  my  bearings. 
Just  to  the  south,  I  made  out  the  blue  ridge  of  the 
more  important  hills,  a  sort  of  promontory  where  I 
thought  an  army  might  have  got  a  good  hold.  I 
turned  towards  the  west,  a  lifeless,  colourless  stretch 
of  country.  The  railway  line  with  its  telegraph  posts 
disappeared  between  two  low  hillocks  on  that  side. 

But  I  thought  I  could  make  out  the  haze  and  dust 
rising  from  a  big  town.  Yes — when  I  looked  harder 
— there  was  a  purple  phantom,  the  silhouette  of  a 
building,  hardly  discernible  in  the  mist,  which  little  by 
little  grew  more  distinct — those  towers  superb  in 
their  grace  and  strength.  In  my  wonder,  I  named  it 
aloud — Rheims  Cathedral. 

By  some  strange  chance  I  had  forgotten  that  this 
Presence  was  so  near  at  hand,  though  on  getting  into 
the  train  that  day  before,  I  had  vaguely  hoped  that 
fate  might  lead  us  to  it. 

My  veneration  for  this  most  sacred  of  all  shrines 
dated  from  my  earliest  childhood  when  I  had  admired 
a  picture  of  it  reproduced  in  my  prayer-book.  Abbe 
Ygonel,  my  first  teacher,  had  sung  the  praises  of  its 
magnificent  harmony  in  striking  terms.  I  had  made 
of  this  erection  the  centre  round  which  gravitated  the 
whole  of  our  history,  enchanting  as  a  legend. 

I  had  only  once  been  to  see  it.  I  had  gone  to 
Rheims  for  a  football  match,  and  before  and  after 
the  game  had  left  my  comrades,  and  had  gone  all 
alone  to  reflect  on  the  faith  which  reared  the  poem 
of  this  portal  and  these  towers. 

I  unconsciously  picked  up  the  thread  of  that  medi-. 
tation  again  now.     The  coronation  cathedral !     It  was 


39°  Ordeal  by  Fire 

there  that  all  the  kings  whose  names  were  landmarks 
in  our  annals,  from  Philippe-Auguste  to  Louis  XVI. 
had  come,  with  bowed  heads,  to  receive  at  the  hands  of 
holy  men  the  crown  and  the  unction  which  made  them 
more  than  men. 

Detached  from  the  present,  I  once  more  began  to 
rejoice  at  this  glorious  realisation — when  my  medita- 
tion was  disturbed  by  an  almost  imperceptible  wave 
of  sound — a  distant  echo.  A  storm  beginning  or 
ending?  I  considered  the  sky.  It  was  clear  and 
serene.  Again  there  was  a  stifled  rumble.  This  time 
I  ceased  to  entertain  any  doubts.  Guillaumin's  ears 
had  not  played  him  false.  My  heart  contracted  at 
the  first  echoes  of  firing  to  awaken  Champagne.  I 
listened.  I  wanted  to  find  out  .  .  .  the  pale  horizon 
guarded  its  secret.  I  looked  again.  The  bewildering 
part  of  it  was  that  this  rumbling  seemed  to  come  not 
from  the  borders  of  Argonne,  where  we  had  left  our 
trail  only  yesterday,  but  from  the  opposite  direction, 
stretching  westwards  towards  Paris.  Was  the  enemy 
there?  Could  it  be  possible?  Already  barring  this 
route ! 

I  had  mechanically  turned  my  eyes  towards  the 
cathedral  again.  What  was  I  seeking?  I  believe  it 
was  help  and  comfort,  from  thee,  the  representative 
city, — vision  worthy  of  exalting  us. 

Why,  on  the  contrary,  did  this  unbounding  sadness 
worm  its  way  into  my  heart? 

What  did  this  proud  edifice  declare?  The  power 
of  Royalty,  the  glory  of  the  Catholicism.  ...  The 
soul  of  ancient  France,  which  was  incarnate  in  these 
living  stones,  had  crumbled  more  quickly  in  the  blast 
of  modern  thought,  than  they  had  in  the  wear  and  tear 
of  time.  What  bound  us,  the  sons  of  'the  twentieth 


The  Cathedral  391 

century,  to  these  traditions  for  which  our  ancestors 
had  lived,  and  piously  lavished  themselves  in  such 
attestations? 

Other  thoughts  obsessed  me.  Rheims,  the  heart 
of  the  country.  This  city,  which  held  such  an  illus- 
trious place  in  our  annals,  to-day  was  threatened, 
almost  lost.  How  many  of  our  ancient  possessions 
had  lately  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy?  In 
1871,  Strassburg  and  Metz.  This  time  the  downfall 
was  more  rapid — Flanders  and  Artois,  Picardy,  so 
many  treasures  and  marvels,  our  patrimony  of  art  and 
land.  The  impious  tide  was  advancing.  And  what 
fate  awaited  these  august  arches,  under  which  our 
princes  had  prostrated  themselves,  the  nave  which 
had  echoed  to  the  sublime  chants  of  our  religion? 
Would  they  become  a  Lutheran  church  which  we  should 
be  allowed  to  look  over  for  the  consideration  of  a  few 
pfennigs  ?  Or  was  there  a  worse  fate  in  store  for  them  ? 
I  dared  not  put  it  into  words  .  .  .  the  crushing 
presentiment  of  ravage  and  crime,  fire  and  sword, 
devastating  this  miracle  of  human  hands.  I  only 
know  that  filling  my  consciousness  with  the  gorgeous 
picture  I  secretly  bid  it  farewell. 

What  was  to  be  done?  Resist?  No  doubt.  But 
so  many  legions  had  burst  from  the  Germanic  reser- 
voirs. What  if  it  was  the  barbarians'  turn  to  spread 
across  this  corner  of  the  world?  An  unwavering  law 
— why  not?  France  would  perhaps  die  away — the 
most  civilised  nation,  ruined  by  her  intelligence,  by  her 
scepticism  revolting  against  that  which  had  formed 
her  grandeur.  I  glanced  at  the  string  of  stationary 
trains  below.  Should  we  ever  get  any  farther? 
Were  we  not  more  likely  to  fight  where  we  were? 
An  ironical  fate  to  perish  in  sight  of  these  towers, 


392  Ordeal  by  Fire 

symbols  of  our  whilom  virtue,  of  our  repudiated 
creed ! 

It  must  be  noticed  that  I  was  still  convinced  that  we 
should  all  do  our  utmost  duty.  We  should  merit 
the  respect  of  those  who  would  build  on  our  ruins. 
I  closed  my  eyes.  I  almost  wished  that  the  hour 
of  our  noble  passing  would  strike  as  soon  as  possible. 
It  seemed  to  me  that,  wounded  to  the  death,  I  might 
have  closed  my  eyes,  unregretfully,  on  my  race  and 
on  myself  since  we  had  achieved  our  destiny. 

And  yet  compunction  pursued  me  among  these 
gloomy  speculations.  Where  was  my  dauntlessness  of 
yesterday?  Why  did  I  suddenly  flinch?  I  sought  for 
the  torches  which  lit  up  my  path.  A  dazzling  beacon 
stood  forth:  My  love!  Jeannine — Jeannine!  I  still 
adored  her,  but  what  fears  interposed  themselves, 
chilling  my  hope.  I  counted  the  days,  how  many  was 
it,  five  or  six,  since  I  had  heard  from  her.  Our  one 
chance  of  happiness  was  exposed  to  so  many  risks. 

What  was  happening  over  there?  If  there  were 
strikes  and  riots,  and  the  attendant  train  of  outrages  ? 
A  fair-haired  victim  .  .  .  !  Would  not  our  future 
fall  to  pieces  with  the  future  of  our  nation?  Or  again 
— other  thoughts  assailed  me.  The  turgid  surge  of 
uncertainty.  Had  I  deceived  myself?  Had  I  not 
relied  too  much  on  a  few  friendly  letters?  Had  the 
exalted  tone  of  my  missives  suddenly  alarmed  her? 

And  then  I  took  pity  on  myself.  So  that  was  the 
only  cause  of  my  depression.  The  delay  in  our 
correspondence.  But  was  there  any  one  round  me, 
never  mind  who  it  was,  more  favoured  than  I?  I 
tried  in  vain  to  bring  about  a  reaction. 

I  went  back  into  the  valley.  Guillaumin  was 
watching  for  me  and  greeted  me  by  asking: 


The  Cathedral  393 

"Well,  are  you  convinced  now?" 

Yes,  it  certainly  was  firing.  It  could  be  heard 
quite  distinctly.  The  men  had  recognised  it,  and 
seemed  exhilarated  by  it. 

Judsi  announced: 

"Boom!     There  now!    We  missed  the  band !" 

Primitive  souls,  who  did  not  know  what  anxiety  was. 


CHAPTER  XII 

PESSIMISM 

TOWARDS  midday  we  set  off  again,  but  to  our  sur- 
prise, went  slowly  backwards,  accompanied  by  the 
shrill  blasts  of  whistles.  The  line  beyond  Rheims 
must  obviously  be  cut,  or  just  about  to  be  cut.  Where 
were  they  taking  us  to? 

There  was  a  new  halt,  near  a  branch  line,  which 
lasted  for  an  interminable  time.  Then  we  laboriously 
got  under  way  again.  The  evening  was  already 
falling. 

How  long  did  that  journey  last?  Two  nights  and 
two  days?  Or  three?  It  was  enough  to  make  one 
lose  all  idea  of  time. 

I  doubt  whether,  after  leaving  Chalons  our  speed 
could  have  exceeded  eight  miles  an  hour.  Every  five 
minutes  we  pulled  up,  sometimes  only  for  a  few 
seconds,  sometimes  for  two  or  three  hours.  To  begin 
with  the  men  in  command  of  each  truck  had  instruc- 
tions to  see  that  no  one  got  out.  But  as  the  comedy 
continued  to  repeat  itself,  the  orders  were  soon  relaxed. 
It  was  better  outside  than  in. 

At  Chalons  and  at  Troyes  we  found  cold  meals 
prepared  for  us.  In  between  times  the  men  spread 
over  the  neighbouring  fields  in  search  of  carrots,  beans, 
and  potatoes,  and  generally  reaped  a  fruitful  harvest. 
They  hollowed  out  ovens  along  the  line,  but  the 

394 


Pessimism  395 

train  often  started  off  just  as  the  camp-kettles  had 
been  put  on  to  the  fire.  The  first  time  or  two,  panic 
ensued,  the  men  seized  the  material,  burning  their 
fingers,  and  crammed  their  mouths  with  half-cooked 
vegetables. 

But  they  gradually  got  to  take  things  more  calmly. 
If  the  train  wanted  to  do  a  bolt,  let  it,  by  all  means! 
They'd  catch  it  up  all  right.  Or  if  not  they  would 
jump  on  to  the  next  one  that  came  along,  that  was 
all!  There  was  a  procession  of  convoys  on  our  down 
line. 

The  most  hilarious  merriment  spread  from  one  end 
of  the  chain  to  the  other.  It  was  occasionally  chilled 
by  meeting  an  ambulance  train  carrying  its  terrible 
load  of  suffering.  We  were  shunted  and  the  other 
passed  us.  It  was  heart-rending,  and  unpleasant  too, 
to  have  to  stay  in  the  wake  of  it,  where  there  floated 
an  unsavory  smell.  But  the  rest  of  the  time — high 
jinks !  The  poilus  had  taken  a  fancy  to  this  fantastic 
excursion.  Peasants  did  a  trade  in  eatables  along  the 
line.  We  bought  eggs,  cheese,  jam,  and  black  puddings 
and  sausages  from  them — good  cheer,  in  fact.  And 
wine  most  of  all.  There  was  a  great  run  on  some 
frothy  wine  of  an  inferior  quality  sold  at  two  francs  a 
bottle.  The  men  clubbed  together  and  there  were 
great  drinking  bouts  which  ended  in  some  of  them 
being  distinctly  "binged. " 

It  was  no  use  trying  to  interfere.  The  N.  C.  O's 
were  giving  way  everj^where.  Some  of  them  even 
joined  in.  Among  our  lot  I  at  least  succeeded  in 
putting  into  force  this  rule :  '  that  whoever  felt 
squeamish,  should  not  get  back  into  the  truck,  where 
he  would  make  everyone  "uncomfortable.  It  was 
strictly  observed:  some  of  these  excellent  fellows 


396  Ordeal  by  Fire 

meekly  dragged  their  wish  to  vomit  along  the  ballast 
for  a  livelong  day. 

I  was  far  from  partaking  in  this  atmosphere  of 
gaiety,  and  was,  on  the  contrary,  bored  and  depressed. 
I  did  not  get  out  half-a-dozen  times,  but  stayed  in  our 
truck  in  almost  complete  isolation.  Chance  had 
separated  me  from  Guillaumin  on  this  journey,  and 
thrown  me  with  Langlois,  who  was  not  a  very 
inspiring  companion. 

De  Valpic  was  feeling  the  effects  of  his  recent 
fatigue,  and  lay  down  the  whole  time.  Humel  twice 
came  to  pay  me  a  short  visit,  unknown  to  the  rest  of 
the  "set. "  Henriot  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

I  have  said  that  we  stopped  for  a  moment  at  Troyes 
where  we  turned  off  on  to  the  main  line,  Belfort-Paris. 
We  soon  saw  the  effect  of  it  in  the  change  of  speed. 
Two  of  our  gay  spirits  again  took  advantage  of  a  halt, 
to  rag  in  the  fields.  The  train  started  off  at  full  speed 
without  whistling.  We  did  not  see  them  again  until 
two  days  later. 

We  arrived  at  Pantin  at  night.  The  men's  persist- 
ent gaiety  made  me  singularly  cross,  and  I  was  much 
relieved  when  the  captain  lost  his  temper  and  exacted 
silence.  We  detrained  in  pitch  darkness.  All  the 
lamps  in  the  station  had  been  put  out  for  fear  of 
Taubes  and  Zeppelins. 

I  longed  and  feared  to  learn  what  turn  things  had 
taken.  I  questioned  a  foreman  who  confided  in  me: 

' '  You're  lucky,  you're  the  last  to  arrive !  To-morrow 
the  system  won't  be  working.  It's  already  cut  at 
Meaux." 

They  hurried  us  along  the  platform,  weighed 
down  like  human  live-stock.  On  leaving  the  station 


Pessimism  397 

we  turned  into  an  unlighted  avenue,  and  marched 
for  half  an  hour  or  fifty  minutes. 

The  men  demanded  a  halt. 

Everyone  was  so  firmly  convinced  that  we  were 
being  brought  back  to  rest  here.  We  would  have 
given  anything  to  lie  down,  if  only  on  bad  straw. 
Our  backs  were  sore  all  over  from  those  seventy-six 
hours  in  the  train. 

The  streets  were  deserted.  At  long  intervals 
there  was  a  sentry,  or  patrol-party.  We  went  on, 
half  dozing.  With  my  head  nodding,  I  urged  myself 
on  to  certain  arguments,  which  were  comparatively 
reassuring.  Don't  throw  the  helve  after  the  hatchet. 
A  besieged  town  is  not  a  captured  town.  Paris,  in 
1870,  had  held  out  for  more  than  four  months.  The 
defensive  works  in  those  days  did  not  approach  those 
of  to-day. 

Henriot  was  walking  beside  me.  I  unbared  my 
thoughts  to  him.  He  retorted : 

"Oh  rot!     They'll  get  in  as  easy  as  look  at  it!" 

"Do  you  really  know  anything  definite  about  it?" 
I  asked,  a  little  nonplussed. 

"I  know  as  much  as  everyone  else!  Nothing's 
ready.  The  forts  in  the  west  are  not  worth  a  pin. 
They  won't  hold  out  any  more  than  those  at  Namur !" 

He  added : 

"And  then  you  know,  when  we  no  longer  think  of 
anything  but  defending  ourselves  .  .  .  !" 

There  were  two  lanterns  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
and  forms  coming  and  going.  It  was  an  intrenching 
party — some  Zouaves  digging  a  piece  of  trench,  and  a 
machine-gun  was  pointed  there. 

Judsi  turned  round. 

"A  bit  beforehand,  ain't  they?" 


398  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Their  zeal  was  rather  overdone!  That  was  the 
general  impression.  I,  on  the  contrary,  felt  that  it 
might  come  in  useful  no  later  than  to-morrow. 

I  repeated  to  myself  Henriot's  half-finished  remark, 
"When  we  no  longer  think  of  anything  but  defending 
ourselves  .  .  .!"  And  I  followed  the  thought  to  its 
conclusion.  I  remembered  the  teaching  of  my  mili- 
tary education,  a  certain  crude  phrase  in  the  regu- 
lations, "A  passive  defensive  is  doomed  to  certain 
defeat!" 

Pray  what  were  we  doing  but  running  to  shut  our- 
selves up  in  a  camp?  How  many  sad  precedents 
there  were  for  that?  Metz,  Port  Arthur,  Adrianople 
...  I  recalled  the  changed  attitude  of  those  of  my 
companions  who  were  capable  of  reasoning.  De 
Valpic,  prostrate.  Was  it  due  only  to  weariness? 
Guillaumin  was  taciturn  and  reserved,  and  the  officers 
silent.  The  captain?  We  had  seen  very  little  of 
him — once  or  twice  gloomily  gnawing  his  moustache. 
What  baleful  influence  was  in  the  air  ?  I  was  suddenly 
suffocated  by  it. 

Where  were  they  taking  us  now?  It  was  Prunelle 
who  put  us  on  the  track.  He  recognised  the  country, 
it  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Neuilly-Plaisance. 
There  was  a  tiny  village  there  where  he  went  every 
Saturday  evening,  and  quite  near  by,  a  topping  place 
for  fishing.  May  I  be  hung  if  he  did  not  begin  to 
prate  of  perch  and  roach  ? 

There  was  a  halt  at  last.  I  took  a  turn.  A  shadow 
was  silhouetted  in  front  of  me: 

"Sergeant!" 

"Who  goes  there?" 

Oh,  I  recognised  him  .  .  . 

"That  you,  Donnadieu?" 


Pessimism  399 

It  was  my  corporal,  the  voluntary  casualty  of 
Mangiennes! 

"I've  come  back,  Sergeant,"  he  said.  "Ser- 
geant ..." 

He  stopped,  choking  .  .  . 

"Did  you  tell  the  others?" 

"Tell  them  what?" 

"Howl  .  .  .  was  wounded?" 

"  No. "     I  replied  coldly.     "  I  told  no  one. " 

My  glance  mechanically  sought  his  hand.  He 
explained : 

"Two  fingers  gone,  that's  all !  I've  asked  them  not 
to  discharge  me,  as  I  can  hold  my  rifle!  I've  been 
waiting  for  you  here  for  two  days.  ..." 

He  began  again : 

"Sergeant,  I  was  watching  for  you  ...  I  wanted 
to  see  you  before  the  others  .  .  .  because  .  .  . 
because  ..." 

He  swallowed : 

"If  the  thing  had  got  about  ...  I  should  have 
put  a  bullet  through  my  head!" 

His  tone  was  abrupt,  and  sincere.  A  man  who 
would  recover  himself.  Why  could  I  not  find  a  hearty 
word  for  him? 

"Where  were  you  looked  after?" 

"At  the  field  hospital.  ...  A  dozen  or  so  out  of 
the  company  were  there." 

"  Do  you  know  what  became  of  .  .  .  ?" 

He  read  my  thoughts  .  .  . 

"Sergeant  Fr6mont?" 

"Fremont,  yes?" 

"He  died  ...  in  two  days.  They  couldn't  move 
him." 

I    left    him.     Little    Fremont    dead!     It    seemed 


400  Ordeal  by  Fire 

impossible,  and  yet  I  had  foreseen  it.  The  tragic 
destiny  weighed  on  us  all!  Again  I  saw  him,  this 
comrade  of  my  youth,  seated  on  the  bench  in  the 
garden,  beside  his  love,  with  the  clear  eyes.  .  .  . 

I  went  back  to  my  companions.  Guillaumin  and 
De  Valpic  were  together,  and  Humel  not  far  away.  I 
called  him,  and  told  them  the  sad  news,  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"It's  quite  certain  then?" 

Humel  fixed  his  eyes,  in  which  I  read  anxiety  and 
terror,  on  me.  Poor  boy!  He,  especially,  needed  a 
comforting  word.  I  could  not  furnish  it.  We  were 
all  four  silent. 

Then  De  Valpic  tried  to  dispel  the  gloom,  by  refer- 
ring to  some  incident  or  other  on  the  journey.  He 
adopted  a  joking  tone.  But  his  strength  failed  him, 
his  cough  put  an  end  to  his  story.  And  the  order 
came  to  start  again. 

We  met  again  during  the  next  halt.  No  one  had 
the  heart  to  say  a  word.  Each  one  of  us  felt  capable  of 
mastering  his  own  distress,  but  if  they  all  came  to  be 
fused  and  strengthened  by  each  other,  there  would  be 
nothing  for  it  but  to  sob.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  CHANGE  FOR  THE   BETTER 

WE  were  billeted  in  a  school,  a  pleasant  change  after 
the  wretched  holes  we  had  been  given  in  Argonne.  I 
slept  until  it  was  broad  daylight. 

When  I  awoke,  our  poilus  had  been  up  for  a  long 
time.  Judsi  was  parting  his  hair,  and  talking  of 
asking  for  leave  to  go  and  see  his  lady  friend.  I  went 
on  lying  in  my  corner  for  quite  a  long  time.  I  was 
haunted  by  the  gloomy  speculations  which  had  at- 
tacked me  the  day  before.  I  thought  of  you,  Jeannine, 
and  wondered  if  you  were  thinking  of  me.  .  .  . 

De  Valpic  appeared  at  the  door  and  glanced  round 
the  room.  He  caught  sight  of  me  and  came  up. 

"Good  morning,  old  chap!" 

He  sat  down  beside  me. 

"This  Paris  air  does  buck  one  up.  I'm  in  the 
'pink'  this  morning!" 

He  coughed. 

"And  what  about  you? " 

"Not so  dusty." 

He  continued : 

"You  did  look  cut  up  last  night.  Directly  I  got 
up,  I  said  to  myself,  now  it's  my  turn  to  go  and  cheer 
him  up!" 

I  smiled. 

36  401 


402  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"Awfully  decent  of  you,  but  did  I  need  it  as  much 
as  all  that?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  while  his  warm 
gaze  probed  me.  Then  he  put  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder : 

"We  aren't  getting  letters, "  he  said,  "but  it  doesn't 
mean  that  they  have  forgotten  us,  old  man ! " 

He  had  accentuated  his  words,  with  the  intuition  of 
a  generous  heart.  How  cleverly  he  had  seen  through 
the  almost  unconscious  yet  ever-present  motive  of  my 
bitterness.  I  hoped  he  would  continue — but  he  did 
not  force  my  reserve.  Simply  and  quietly  he  began 
to  open  his  heart  to  me  again,  as  he  had  the  other  day. 
I  learnt  that  his  betrothed  was  named  Anne-Marie, 
and  he  told  me  her  family  name  too,  an  illustrious 
one,  as  I  had  supposed.  The  last  card  he  had  had 
from  her  had  been  sent  from  Laon,  he  said.  .  .  .  Yes, 
she  was  down  there  with  a  detachment  of  nurses. 

De  Valpic  spoke  slowly,  in  his  expressive,  caressing 
voice.  He  told  me  what  strength  and  stoical  tenacity 
of  purpose  he  had  drawn  more  than  once,  from  the 
tender  daily  letter.  Without  this  assistance  he  would 
have  faltered  and  fallen  at  the  beginning.  He  con- 
sidered that  now  was  the  time,  when  he,  like  me,  had 
been  deprived  of  all  news,  for  so  long,  to  stand  fast, 
to  show  himself  worthy  of  her,  to  put  forth  all  the 
strength  which  she  had  inculcated  into  him. 

It  was  a  confidence  which  seemed  to  prompt  mine, 
or  take  it  for  granted,  a  new  bond  between  us.  All 
he  told  me  of  his  fiance'e,  I  could  attribute  to  Jeannine. 
Valiant  children,  they  were  both  alike  in  their  attach- 
ment to  us,  in  their  task  of  inspiration.  I  too  invoked 
a  certain  passage  in  one  of  the  recent  letters,  buttoned 
up  in  my  tunic,  where  courage  and  patience  were 


A  Change  for  the  Better         403 

preached  to  me,  where  I  was  implored  never  to  despair 
of  happiness.  Stick  to  it,  then,  by  way  of  homage, 
in  proof  of  manly  devotion.  I  fervently  forbade 
myself  to  let  despondency  get  a  hold  over  me.  Ah ! 
If  only  I  could  have  made  enthusiasm  my  daily 
bread. 

"I've  just  been  writing,"  continued  De  Valpic. 
"Sent  from  here,  perhaps  it  will  arrive.  Won't  you 
imitate  me?" 

I  asked  him  to  excuse  me  for  a  moment  while  I 
scrawled  a  few  lines.  I  told  Jeannine  that  fate  had 
deigned  to  answer  my  prayer,  and  bring  me  near  to 
her  .  .  .  Nothing  more  than  a  smiling  testimony 
to  our  faith  and  hope. 

On  reading  it  over  I  laughed  and  said : 

"Well,  if  she  is  not  cheered  up  by  that!" 

"You  know, "  he  said,  "that  Paris  is  showing  a  most 
admirable  spirit." 

"Really?    How  can  you  judge  of  it?" 

"Come  along!" 

He  gave  me  a  hand  by  which  to  pull  myself  up. 
We  went  out.  In  the  street  I  was  at  once  struck  by 
all  the  windows  decked  with  flags  flapping  in  the 
wind,  the  serenity  written  on  the  faces  of  the  people 
walking  about,  the  tranquil  hum.  I  had  seen  the  city 
look  like  this  during  the  mobilisation. 

"Has  there  been — a  victory?"  I  murmured. 

"It  will  come  all  in  good  time ! "  De  Valpic  said  gaily. 
"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry!" 

Bells  were  beginning  to  ring. 

"It's  Sunday,"  he  continued.  "What  luck  to  be 
here  on  a  Sunday!" 

We  took  a  few  steps.  It  was  a  clear,  spring-like 
morning;  a  gentle  breeze  made  the  sunlit  tree-tops 


404  Ordeal  by  Fire 

quiver.  A  troop  of  little  children  ran  up  brandishing 
sticks  and  spades. 

"Hurrah  for  the  soldiers!"  they  cried. 

They  had  the  attractive,  wide-awake  faces  common 
to  Paris  boys.  They  nudged  each  other. 

"It's  the  3rd  .  .  .  just  look!" 

"My  big  bruvver's  in  the  3O2nd. " 

Some  of  them  gazed  into  our  eyes  saying : 

"  'Ad  a  'ard  time,  'aven't  yer,  but  we're  sure  to  wop 
'em,  ain't  we?" 

"Wop  'em — rather!"  De  Valpic  retorted  joyously. 

The  passers-by  smiled  at  us,  or  gave  us  a  friendly 
wave  of  the  hand.  The  City  greeted  us,  not  as  her 
saviours — Paris  did  not  admit  that  she  was  in  any 
danger, — but  simply  as  good  children  who  had  suffered 
for  her  sake. 

The  rare  trams,  which  were  running,  began  to  turn 
out  numbers  of  Sunday  excursionists.  A  great  many 
had  come  with  their  families  either  on  foot,  or  bi- 
cycling, to  enjoy  the  air  of  their  beloved  suburb.  Not 
one  of  them  showed  the  least  trace  of  terror.  They 
were  marvellously  light-hearted.  It  was  amusing  to 
see  the  fathers  pointing  out  the  preparations  for  de- 
fence to  their  offspring,  the  trenches  and  barricades 
made  of  trees  placed  at  intervals  along  the  avenues, 
and  supplying  the  explanations  in  a  serious  or  amused 
tone  of  voice.  The  little  brats  enjoyed  the  unusual 
sight.  Their  eyes  were  often  turned  skywards,  a 
Taube  was  the  only  thing  wanting  to  make  their  joy 
complete. 

De  Valpic  pressed  my  arm.     He  was  triumphant. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  to  it?" 

Two  pretty  young  women,  who  were  crossing  the 
road,  came  up  to  us.  They  were  attractive  and 


A  Change  for  the  Better         405 

distinguished-looking.  They  both  had  baskets  on 
their  arms,  and  we  noticed  their  brassards.  They 
gracefully  offered  us  cigarettes,  cakes,  and  packets  of 
sweets  tied  up  with  ribbons.  I  helped  myself  dis- 
creetly. De  Valpic  would  only  accept  a  flower,  which 
he  stuck  in  his  cap. 

"And  what  about  your  comrades?" 

We  called  Bouillon  who  was  passing.  He  was  still 
only  half-clothed,  as  he  had  been  washing  at  a  fount- 
ain. At  last  he  made  up  his  mind  to  it  and  they  made 
a  great  fuss  over  "the  brave  poilu. " 

Having  stuffed  him  with  dainties,  they  began  to 
question  him.  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  From  Paris, 
really!  And  what  quarter?  Crenelle.  One  of  them 
exclaimed  that  she  lived  in  that  part  too.  Bouillon 
was  stammering  in  his  embarrassment. 

I  took  it  upon  myself  to  give  them  "  Marie's  "  address. 
The  young  woman  promised  to  go  and  see  her,  no 
later  than  to-morrow,  and  she  would  take  something 
for  the  baby. 

I  think  that  they  had  recognised  De  Valpic  and 
myself  as  belonging  to  their  world.  Just  as  they  were 
about  to  go  on  their  way,  they  turned  round  once  more. 

"Perhaps  you  have  some  letters  to  send?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

We  gave  them  the  missives. 

"Good  luck  to  you!" 

They  held  out  their  hands  to  us,  with  a  pretty 
gesture. 

Directly  they  had  gone,  I  said  to  De  Valpic : 
"What  we  ought  to  have  done  was  to  ask  them  for 
some  papers!" 

"What  does  it  matter?" 


4°6  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  accosted  the  first  passer-by,  and  then  went  on 
to  the  next  group.  His  courtesy  stood  him  in  good 
stead.  In  five  minutes  he  had  collected  six  or  seven 
newspapers,  of  that  day  or  the  day  before.  We  went 
in  again  to  revel  in  this  literature. 

Our  eyes  grew  wet  with  joy,  at  the  very  first  glance. 

I  have  spoken  of  my  obstinate  fears  concerning  the 
interior  peril.  They  soon  vanished.  There  was  no 
confusion  at  all. 

The  Government  was  intact,  and  had  become 
greater  and  more  sanctified.  All  the  different  parties 
were  working  together.  The  alterations  in  the 
Ministry  had  no  other  significance.  It  was  a  Sacred 
Union.  The  words  exactly  described  it. 

I  fell  upon  the  communiques.  That  day's  said  that 
the  enemy  was  continuing  his  change  of  front  in  the 
south-east.  .  .  . 

That  of  the  day  before  mentioned  that  Rheims  and 
La  Ferte  had  been  reached.  .  .  .  That  was  no  news 
to  us! 

Most  of  the  space  was  devoted  to  the  enormous 
advance  by  the  Russians,  a  piece  of  news  which  as- 
tounded, and  overjoyed  us.  What  fun  has  since  been 
made  of  the  wave  of  hope  let  loose  by  these  victories  at 
the  beginning,  of  the  naive  enthusiasm  of  the  crowds, 
and  the  tale  of  the  Cossacks  being  only  a  few  days' 
march  from  Berlin?  Wrongly,  in  my  opinion.  The 
benefit  derived  from  such  illusions  will  never  be 
exaggerated.  Our  salvation  was  built  on  them  and 
by  them, — by  the  fervour  aroused  in  the  veins  of  each 
Frenchman,  the  fierce  resolution  to  strain  every 
faculty,  to  fight  side  by  side,  to  hold  out  until  the 
mighty  flood  of  Slavs,  pouring  out  of  the'.  Steppes, 
should  overwhelm  everything.  ..." 


A  Change  for  the  Better         407 

And  besides,  they  were  not  all  chimeras.  There 
were  already  some  definite  results.  Oriental  Prussia 
was  invaded,  and  "Altenstein"  and  "Gumbinnen" — 
the  censor  was  silent  on  the  subject  of  "Thannen- 
berg. "  And  then,  at  the  other  extremity  of  this 
front,  the  triumphs  in  Galicia,  the  occupation  of 
Lemberg,  which  had  just  been  announced,  and  endless 
booty  and  trophies! 

Farther  on  other  flourishes  were  sounded.  There 
was  an  avalanche  of  details  on  the  marvellous  exploits 
of  the  Serbians — their  success  at  Lonitza,  dated  from 
the  week  before — down  to  the  splendid  Montenegrins 
who  were  said  to  be  threatening  Cattaro. 

What  could  be  more  impressive,  too,  than  the  firm- 
ness of  the  English  resolution!  The  expeditionary 
force,  coming  over  in  numbers,  day  after  day;  Lord 
Kitchener's  allusion  to  the  "formidable  factor" — 
everyone  knew  what  he  meant  by  that. 

Above  all,  the  solemn  compact  made  by  the  Three 
Powers  not  to  sign  a  separate  peace. 

And  then  what  life  and  courage  there  was  in  the 
style  of  all  these  articles.  They  would  always  be  read 
and  re-read  for  the  edification  of  the  people.  There 
was  no  sign  of  depression  or  giving  way.  Nothing  but 
a  superb  confidence  in  the  destiny  of  the  country. 
They  approved  the  action  of  the  Ministry,  frankly 
and  completely.  It  was  an  excellent  move  to  take  the 
Government  to  Bordeaux,  as  a  measure  of  prudence. 
Gallieni  was  to  replace  Michel.  Well  if  the  latter 
submitted,  he  must  be  imitated.  There  were  sober 
commentaries  on  the  strategical  situation.  The  er- 
rors and  defeats  were  admitted,  but  public  opinion 
convinced  that  further  mistakes  were  being  guarded 
against,  was  not  affected  by  them.  The  possi- 


408  Ordeal  by  Fire 

bility  of  an  attack  against  the  Intrenched  Camp  was 
recognised,  but  there  were  strong  arguments  tending 
to  prove  that  it  would  fail  utterly.  There  were  inter- 
views with  combatants,  wounded,  and  prisoners;  noble 
traits,  and  heroic  sayings.  In  fact,  one  might  say  that 
the  atmosphere  was  one  of  cocksureness  and  joviality. 
The  press  and  the  nation  were  attaining  to  the  fine 
temper  of  the  poilus. 

Here  and  there  anonymous  pieces  of  information  or 
an  article,  signed  by  a  celebrated  writer  or  politician, 
were  conspicuous — all  great  successes.  It  was  not 
my  smallest  surprise.  These  people,  worthy  of  their 
reputation,  of  their  readers,  of  the  Moment!  Supple 
geniuses  moving  without  effort  at  the  zenith  of 
eloquence. 

Why  quote  any  names  ?  They  were  superbly-tuned 
instruments,  all  vibrating  on  the  same  note,  taking 
their  part  in  the  paeon,  even  to  a  certain  divine  flute- 
player,  whom  I  had  formerly  admired  as  an  artist, 
without  considering  him  sincere,  even  without  always 
relishing  his  disdainful  irony — I  was  struck  by  the 
direct,  earnest  style  which  he  suddenly  displayed.  I 
felt  my  soul  thrill  in  unison  with  his  great  soul,  which 
he  unveiled  with  a  quiver. 

De  Valpic  and  I  devoured  the  papers,  and  handed 
them  on  to  each  other. 

"Just  read  that!" 

I  know  quite  well  that  we  brought  the  most  credu- 
lous state  of  mind  to  our  reading — I  was  even  tempted 
to  upbraid  myself  with  it.  The  world  of  the  press  was 
well  known  to  me !  It  was  turned  on  at  a  word  of 
command.  Even  in  face  of  all  likelihood  and  reason. 
Perhaps  all  the  probable  sorrows  of  the  hour  were 
being  hidden  from  us. 


A  Change  for  the  Better         409 

De  Valpic  read  my  thoughts: 

"As  long  as  it  goes  down  .  .  .!"  he  said. 

It  was  true  enough.  They  were  happy  lies  to  judge 
by  their  fruits.  If  those  who  traced  these  lines 
despaired  at  heart,  all  the  more  honour  to  them.-  .  .  . 
Who  could  thank  them  enough  for  the  manly  assur- 
ance they  had  inscribed  on  the  face  of  the  crowd? 
Could  I  not  feel  the  benefit  of  their  encouragement 
upon  myself? 

My  companion  looked  at  his  watch. 

"I  must  leave  you. " 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

He  smiled: 

"Will  you  come  with  me?  There  is  a  mass  at  nine 
o'clock,  just  near  by. " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HIGH    STRATEGY 

I  WAS  going  out  into  the  yard,  with  my  three  or  four 
papers  spread  out  in  my  hand,  when  I  heard  myself 
called.  I  stopped.  It  was  Captain  Ribet. 

"Newspapers  are  prohibited!"  he  said. 

I  was  standing  at  attention.  I  gazed  at  him. 
"Was  he  joking?  In  peace  time,  I  knew  they  were  not 
allowed.  But  to-day!  Was  it  a  pet  fad  of  his?  Or 
else  were  there  special  instructions  ? 

His  features  relaxed.     He  continued : 

"Will  you  lend  me  one?" 

I  handed  him  the  whole  bundle. 

"Allow  me  ..."  he  said.     "  Just  a  glance. " 

He  ran  through  the  first  page,  and  was  just  going  to 
turn  over. 

I  made  bold  to  say : 

"There's  nothing  so  exhilarating  as  that  reading,  I 
consider,  sir!  I  confess  I  was  thinking  of  letting  my 
men  profit  by  it  .  .  . "  He  cut  me  short: 

"I  understand,  I  understand  you.  You're  a  good 
sort,  Dreher!  Two  or  three  of  you  have  turned  out 
to  be  extraordinarily  useful !  I  was  a  little  bit  pre- 
judiced against  you  young  bourgeois.  I  thought  you 
would  be  selfish,  and  not  care  a  rap  about  your  work 
or  anything  else.  I  was  mistaken. " 

He  added : 

410 


High  Strategy  411 

"I  wish  all  your  comrades  were  like  you!" 

I  opened  my  mouth  but  he  stopped  me. 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  I'm  quite  well 
aware  of  it.  Look  here,  only  this  morning  I  had  a  talk 
with  Descroix  and  Humel.  I've  warned  them  of  one 
thing,  and  that  is,  that  if  during  the  first  engagement 
their  men  flinch  ...  Ah!  I'm  not  going  to  stand 
any  nonsense!  It'll  be  a  case  of  summary  justice, 
I  can  tell  you!" 

I  put  in  a  few  words  on  Humel's  behalf. 

"Yes,  he's  getting  himself  in  hand  again,  since  he's 
had  something  to  do  with  you  others!" 

Bless  the  man!  Nothing  escaped  him.  He  con- 
tinued : 

"As  for  Playoust,  nothing  on  earth  will  induce  me 
to  have  him  in  my  firing-line  again.  I'm  going  to 
arrange  to  have  him  sent  to  the  ammunition-train, 
but  I  shall  warn  them  to  keep  an  eye  on  him  there!" 

I  said  nothing  as  I  felt  slightly  embarrassed.  It 
was  certainly  the  first  time  that  the  company  com- 
mander had  lingered  in  tete-a-te"te  with  one  of  his 
N.  C.  O's.  Ravelli,  who  was  a  few  yards  off,  must 
think  I  was  getting  a  wigging.  I  tried  to  escape. 

"Stop  a  minute,"  said  Ribet,  "if  I'm  not  boring 
you  .  .  ." 

He  smiled. 

"And  stand  at  ease,  Dreher!" 

I  moved  my  left  leg,  and  smiled  in  my  turn. 

Then  he  began  to  talk  to  me  in  an  unexpectedly 
familiar  tone — this  man  whom  I  had  thought  so  proud, 
so  incapable  of  confiding  in  any  one.  He  told  me  his 
whole  history,-  how  when  quite  small  he  had  always 
longed  to  be  a- soldier,  how  he  had  been  kept  back  by 
an  illness,  and  had  failed  for  St.  Cyr  (I  had'  "always 


412  Ordeal  by  Fire 

thought  he  had  been  through  it),  why  he  had  enlisted. 
.  .  .  He  loyally  reported  all  his  disappointments, 
and  mortifications.  It  was  the  last  trade  in  peace  time. 
He  appealed  to  me  to  corroborate  this  statement  from 
the  knowledge  gained  from  my  brother  whom  I  had 
just  lost.  Oh,  the  slow  advancement,  the  insufficient 
pay,  the  spirit  of  jealousy  and  tyranny  .  .  .  ! 

He  made  a  speech  for  the  prosecution.  The  great- 
est part  of  the  army  was  a  mass  of  laziness,  lies,  and 
intrigue.  There  were  two  ways  of  rising  from  the 
ranks:  the  military  school,  where  hard  work  did 
not  succeed  except  when  combined  with  push  (except 
in  regard  to  successes  with  the  fair  sex),  and  the 
Colonies.  He  had  got  himself  sent  to  the  Soudan, 
as  an  ambitious  young  subaltern,  but  at  the  end  of  a 
few  months  his  liver  had  become  inflamed.  Weeks 
of  fever,  and  a  long  martyrdom  at  the  hospital  at 
Brazzaville  had  followed,  and  he  had  finally  been 
sent  back  to  France  with  the  advice  never  to  set 
foot  in  Africa  again.  It  had  meant  that  his  life 
was  wrecked — that  he  must  grow  old  in  the  dreary 
atmosphere  of  little  garrison  towns. 

His  tone  grew  still  more  bitter  when  he  described 
the  utter  boredom,  the  flat  distractions,  the  lack  of 
any  intellectual  milieu,  and  beyond  that  the  moral 
subjection,  the  physical  overwork.  The  machine  was 
worn  out  before  its  time,  one  became  fit  for  nothing. 

I  could  not  help  asking  him : 

"Why  .  .  .  can't  you  clear  out  in  time?" 

"Why?  Because  when  once  you're  in  it,  you  stay 
there.  Made  a  captain  after  fifteen  years'  service,  I 
waited  ten  more  for — can  you  guess  what?  A  trum- 
pery bit  of  rubbish*  the  military  crosJ" 

He  continued: 


High  Strategy  413 

' '  When  I  retired,  I  was  used  up,  done !  The  time  for 
aspiring  to  something  higher  was  past,  or  at  all  events 
for  the  realisation  of  it.  I  was  made  a  tax-collector. 
That  was  all  that  was  left  for  me!" 

Yes,  theirs  was  an  odd  fate,  I  thought,  the  peace- 
time soldiers,  who  come  out  and  mature,  acquire 
lace  and  age,  and  end  by  disappearing  without  having 
realised  that  for  which  they  imagined  they  were  born. 

I  said  in  order  to  console  him: 

"But  since  you're  fighting  to-day  ..." 

He  drew  himself  up : 

"Exactly.  To-day  I'm  fighting.  I  am  taking 
risks,  I  obey  and  command;  I  am,  in  fact,  of  some  use. 
At  my  age,  if  I  had  been  in  the  reserve,  they'd  have 
left  me  at  the  depot !" 

He  tossed  his  head. 

"It's  true.  Taking  everything  into  account,  I 
don't  think  I  regret  anything." 

His  eyes  shone. 

Of  some  use!  Yes,  indeed,  this  company  com- 
mander, who  had  three  hundred  men  in  his  charge,  and 
played  his  part  conscientiously,  had  used  and  not 
abused  the  power  placed  in  his  hands.  It  was  the 
eternal  swing  of  the  pendulum.  Greatness  after 
Servitude ! 

He  went  on  with  his  confidences. 

"You'll  laugh  at  me!  The  things  I  was  keenest 
about  were  the  studies  which  form  the  crown  of  our 
art — strategy  and  tactics.  To  handle  masses  of  men, 
and  face  those  many-sided  problems — the  offensive, 
the  pursuit,  the  retreat.  ...  I  worked  a  lot  on  my 
own  account.  There  are  some  questions  on  which 
I  don't  think  .  .  .  any  one  could  catch  me  out." 

He  was  working  himself  up. 


414  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Fancy  holding  the  fate  of  a  section  in  your  hands! 
Or  being  commander-in-chief  on  a  day  when  the 
victory  he  has  prepared  comes  to  pass. 

At  this  point  a  little  irony  crept  into  my  thoughts 
and  chilled  my  admiration  for  him.  What  was  to 
become  of  all  these  ambitions  of  a  company  com- 
mander in  this  fine  "dug-out"  from  St.  Maixent? 
The  idea  of  exploiting  his  mania  occurred  to  me. 
I  might  get  some  interesting  information  out  of 
him.  .  .  . 

I  looked  at  him. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  the  situation  at  the 
moment?" 

Did  he  guess  my  secret  tendency  to  sarcasm?  A 
struggle  seemed  to  be  going  on  in  him.  Mistrust 
obviously  won  the  day.  He  would  not  lay  himself 
open  to  ridicule.  He  treated  me  to  the  usual  common- 
place. We  must  hold  on,  and  leave  the  Russians  time 
to  throw  all  their  weight  into  the  balance.  It  was  a 
necessity  for  the  Germans  to  finish  us  off  quickly. 

"Then  you  don't  think  we  ought  to  meet  their 
attack?" 

"That  depends!" 

"Well  then,  do  you  think  our  retreat  is  nearly 
over?" 

"Ask  Joffre!" 

I  sounded  him : 

"Some  people  consider  that  we  ought  to  go  and 
wait  for  the  enemy  on  the  Loire. " 

That  was  too  much  for  him.     He  cried: 

"Oh,  no,  no.  That  would  be  absolutely  idiotic. 
I  know  there  was  some  talk  of  it!" 

"How  far,  then?" 

He  hesitated : 


High  Strategy  415 

"I  hope  some  day  we  may  be  in  a  position  to  take 
the  offensive  again!" 

I  looked  up. 

"Yes, "  I  said,  "because  at  the  moment  ..." 

"Well?" 

"What  are  we  doing?" 

He  scrutinised  my  face. 

"Follow  up  your  idea." 

"We  are  shutting  ourselves  into  a  camp. " 

"Does  that  distress  you?" 

"I  may  be  a  bad  judge." 

He  twirled  his  moustache. 

"Really!  You  too,  you  too!  You  look  at  things 
like  that?" 

I  had  him — I  had  led  him  on  to  the  point  from  which 
I  knew  he  would  launch  out. 

"If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  and  Paris  was 
stormed,  there  would  only  be  one  thing  for  us,  the 
troops  collected  here,  to  do.  That  would  be  to  stick 
in  the  trenches  covering  the  approach  to  the  forts, 
and  be  killed,  down  to  the  last  man!  .  .  .  For 
that  matter  I  think  they'd  be  in  a  bit  of  a  hole  with 
our  army  on  their  flank.  But  that's  not  at  all  the 
position.  For  four  days,  Dreher,  four  days  you  under- 
stand, their  new  objective  has  been  visible.  They 
are  inclining  towards  the  south-east.  They  are  set  on 
surrounding  all  our  forces  in  the  field.  Under  these 
circumstances,  I  think — it  seems  to  me — that  a 
decisive  movement  ..." 

This  time  he  threw  restraint  to  the  winds.  He 
began  by  explaining  all  he  had  been  able  to  follow  of 
the  operations  since  the  beginning.  In  a  lump,  of 
course,  but  how  much  I  valued  that  first  sight  I  had 
had  of  things  as  a  whole,  at  a  time  when  I  was  sighing 


4i 6  Ordeal  by  Fire 

after  light  from  the  depths  of  my  ignorance.  It  was 
in  vain  that  I  had  instinctively  put  myself  on  guard 
against  the  pretensions  of  an  officer  in  a  subordinate 
position.  I  was  forced  to  admire  the  masterly  way  in 
which  he  stated  the  facts,  the  precision  and  lucidity 
of  his  words,  which  would  have  made  of  him  a  remark- 
able professor  of  military  history.  He  summed  up 
for  me,  in  a  few  words,  the  action  in  the  North  which 
until  then  had  been  shrouded  in  a  thick  mist  for  me. 
Our  premature  offensive,  the  strength  of  the  German 
right  under  Von  Kluck  exceeding  all  expectations — 
our  English  Allies  overcome  in  spite  of  heroic  efforts — 
the  enemy's  wing  set  in  motion  and  hurled  towards 
Paris  by  forced  marches  which  it  was  impossible  to 
hinder  in  spite  of  terrible  sacrifices — our  men  falling 
back,  fighting  day  and  night,  on  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  capital.  That  was  last  week's  balance  sheet. 
To-day  the  enemy  had  given  up  the  idea  of  Paris, 
provisionally  and  was  applying  the  new  principle: 
the  search  for,  and  the  annihilation  of,  the  hostile 
armies  in  the  field.  It  was  a  far-reaching  conception. 
Just  think  of  the  gigantic  forces  they  had  hurled  into 
Lorraine  too,  which  had  just  forced  us  back  in  a  few 
days  from  Sarrebourg  and  Morhange  to  the  St. 
Die-Nancy  front.  It  was  a  colossal  enveloping  move- 
ment. Our  front  pierced  towards  Neufchateau,  as 
the  principal  German  mass  fell  back  by  Chalons — our 
communications  cut,  that  meant  all  our  forces  in  the 
east,  and  the  whole  system  of  our  fortified  towns 
caught  at  one  haul,  three-quarters  of  our  strength 
destroyed,  the  war  virtually  over. 

"Then?"     I  said  panting  in  spite  of  myself. 

"We  have  a  chance.  Will  they  know  how  to  make 
use  of  it?  I  believe  so — First  of  all,  our  right  must 


High  Strategy  417 

hold  out.  Castelnau  is  down  there,  he  is  the  only 
man  who  has  held  his  own.  Then  you  see  Von  Kluck 
is  clearly  leaving  Paris  on  one  side.  He  does  not  set 
much  store  by  the  place,  only  sees  it  in  the  stake  of 
victory.  That  is  perhaps  a  mistake,  perhaps  the  mis- 
take. Perhaps  our  one  object  was  to  get  him  to  make 
that  mistake!" 

He  took  a  deep  breath: 

"Dreher,  listen  to  this!  If  we  were  in  the  camp  in 
force — and  why  shouldn't  we  be  ? — if  we  had  had  time 
to  concentrate  several  corps  there,  a  hundred  thousand 
men  say,  which  I  believe  is  the  case — if  we  threw  our- 
selves on  their  flank,  imprudently  uncovered — if  at 
that  precise  instant  our  other  armies  made  headway 
against  them — if  Von  Kluck  were  suddenly  to  find 
himself  wedged  in  a  vice  ..." 

The  captain  pulled  up  short.  Was  he  afraid  of 
having  said  too  much,  of  having  ventured  too  far  in 
his  bold  inferences? 

He  went  on: 

"However,  they  may  be  tempted  to  keep  us  as  a 
last  resource. " 

But  he  could  not  bear  this  idea,  and  refuted  it  him- 
self instantly : 

"No,  a  thousand  times  no!  A  bad  calculation. 
All  the  forces  on  the  spot,  and  at  the  right  moment  I 
That  was  what  was  wanted!" 

He  interrupted  himself  again,  with  beads  of  per- 
spiration on  his  forehead  .  .  .  and  suddenly  said  in  a 
detached  tone  of  voice: 

"I  say  that  to  you,  but  I  know  nothing,  nothing. 
The  staffs  are  the  only  judges.  Are  our  numbers 
sufficient?  Is  our  combination  assured,  and  the 
enemy's  compromised?" 


4i 8  Ordeal  by  Fire 

An  aeroplane  passed  by.  The  captain  raised  his 
arm: 

"Is  it  that  bird  that  is  bringing  decisive  in- 
formation?" 

"Or  the  order  to  attack?"  I  murmured. 

He  was  silent,  and  I  could  get  no  more  out  of  him 
but  idle  generalities,  but  I  read  in  his  eyes,  and  face 
his  approbation  of  my  wish,  the  conformity  of  our 
desire. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   WORD    IN    SEASON 

I  WAS  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  when  I  left 
him — a  mixture  of  hope  and  anguish  aroused  by  the 
ascendency  of  his  words.  They  had  been  so  clear  and 
categorical,  too.  I  could  so  vividly  imagine  the 
movement  of  salvation  within  our  reach.  The 
German  right,  harassed  by  a  dizzy  offensive,  no  doubt 
experiencing  difficulties  in  the  replenishment  of  sup- 
plies, after  having  lightly  embarked  on  this  broad 
movement  of  conversion — with  us  as  a  living  menace 
on  its  flank,  well  supported  by  the  camp  (were  our 
numbers  large  enough?  That  was  the  chief  point), 
well  rested  and  provided  with  ammunition  .  .  . 
what  a  lot  of  trumps  we  should  hold  in  the  advantage 
of  taking  them  by  surprise;  the  consciousness  of  the 
justice  of  our  cause,  the  strength  drawn  from  contact 
with  our  Mother  City. 

I  was  possessed  with  the  idea  that  a  decision  was 
urgent.  Was  not  this  the  day  and  the  hour,  even  the 
minute,  that  historians  would  designate  to  all  eternity 
as  that  in  which  our  supreme  chance  of  victory 
occurred  ? 

My  heart  was  beating  madly.  I  tried  in  vain  to 
calm  myself  by  the  usual  reflections.  I  could  so  well 
picture  the  alternative  being  laid  before  the  governor 
of  Paris.  Either  to  reserve  his  army  in  view  of  the 

419 


420  Ordeal  by  Fire 

probable  siege,  or  else  to  hurl  it  into  the  furnace  down 
to  the  last  battalion. 

It  was  a  formidable  initiative.  The  fate  of  the 
country  in  his  hands!  All  my  being  was  strained, 
almost  to  breaking  point,  towards  the  side  of  boldness. 
I  would  have  given  ten  years  of  my  life  that  this 
man's  heart  might  be  well  tampered. 

I  walked  feverishly  through  the  streets  wherever 
chance  led  me,  looking  for  someone  to  talk  to.  I  met 
De  Valpic,  but  he  was  exhausted  and  was  going  to  rest. 

Guillaumin  had  been  warned  for  orderly  duty  at 
the  Town  Hall.  I  went  to  see  him,  but  did  not  get 
much  out  of  him  as  he  was  absorbed  in  his  duties.  It 
was  a  sight  to  warm  the  heart,  this  string  of  inhabi- 
tants, coming,  each  one  of  them,  to  offer  to  have 
soldiers  billeted  on  them. 

On  leaving  there,  I  went  to  have  a  look  at  my  men 
who  were  cleaning  themselves  up  and  mending  their 
clothes — a  laudable  care  for  their  personal  appearance, 
and  a  way  of  passing  time.  According  to  the  general 
opinion,  we  should  be  there  for  some  time. 

I  continued  my  walk  and  extended  its  area.  I  came 
to  a  vague  piece  of  ground  bordered  by  a  hedge.  I 
distinguished  the  murmur  of  voices  behind  it,  and 
caught  sight  of  some  uniforms.  Someone  exclaimed: 

"Take  care!" 

I  showed  myself.     Then  they  laughed. 

"Halloa!     That  you,  Dreher?" 

Five  or  six  of  my  comrades  from  the  fifth  battalion 
were  seated  there  in  a  circle,  Ladmiraut  and  Miquel 
among  others;  Fortin,  too.  I  was  delighted.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  I  had  not  seen  him  since  the 
incident  at  the  "Globe." 

I  went  and  sat  down  beside  him  and  began  to  talk 


A  Word  in  Season  421 

to  him  in  a  cordial  tone.  Idiotic,  the  fuss  that  had 
been  made!  Did  they  still  continue  to  worry  him? 

"Not  a  bit." 

He  spoke  rather  coldly.     Miqnel  intervened. 

"Rather  not!  He's  in  my  platoon.  I  let  him  off 
the  troublesome  fatigues." 

The  conversation  seemed  to  be  hanging  fire.  I 
asked : 

"What  were  you  talking  about  when  I  arrived?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much — nothing  at  all  interesting. 
You  got  any  news?" 

I  was  stupidly  inspired  to  tell  them  of  little  Fremont's 
death. 

"Poor  bo}r!"  sighed  Laraque. 

"Whose  turn  is  it  now?"  Fortin  remarked. 

Silence  fell  again.     I  said: 

"You  don't  seem  very  enthusiastic  here." 

"Not  much  reason  to  be." 

"Oh,  come!" 

Fortin  gave  a  start,  but  his  neighbour  nudged  him, 
saying: 

' '  That  your  opinion  ? ' ' 

There  were  smiles.  My  reputation  as  a  scoffer  was 
indeed  well  established.  Fortin,  without  addressing 
me  in  particular,  murmured: 

"I  wonder  if  there  are  still  any  optimists  left?" 

"  Of  course, "  I  said.     "  Myself  for  one. " 

He  gazed  at  me,  refusing  to  take  me  seriously;  then 
said,  in  a  tired  voice : 

"I  am  stating  results.  The  war  has  been  going  on 
for  just  five  weeks  and  where  have  we  got  to?  We've 
been  beaten  everywhere  and  thrown  back  on  our 
final  redoubt.  The  amount  that  was  said  about 
defending  the  least  particle  of  ground  foot 'by  foot, 


422  Ordeal  by  Fire 

till  the  last  extremity !  The  extremity  has  soon  come. 
Let's  establish  the  balance:  Lille,  Arras,  Amiens, 
Beauvais,  St.  Quentin,  Mezieres,  Rheims — by  this 
time  probably  Meaux  and  Chalons;  possibly  Nancy! 
A  quarter  of  France  invaded.  No,  I  tell  you,  there's 
nothing  to  be  done.  They  were  ready;  that's  all. 
They  knew  what  they  wanted." 

I  interrupted  him,  quivering  all  over.  It  was  my 
turn  now  to  copy  Guillaumin. 

"Then,  according  to  you,  everything  is  lost?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "the  men  are  first  rate.  There's 
nothing  lost  by  admitting  that.  They  will  probably 
hold  out  to  the  end,  in  face  of  all  hope,  for  honour's 
sake." 

"And  you'll  be  one  of  the  first  to  do  so,"  said 
Miquel. 

"Just  like  everyone  else.  It's  in  our  blood.  I  see 
our  line  of  resistance  on  the  Loire,  then  on  the  Garonne. 
The  wretched  government  will  have  to  move  house 
again. " 

" How  you  run  on !    And  Paris?" 

"It's  lucky  they  didn't  bear  straight  down  on  it. 
They'd  be  entering  it  at  this  very  moment. " 

"  Perhaps  they  had  some  reason  ..." 

"Bah!" 

"All  our  armies  on  their  flank." 

"Our  poor  armies!    A  lot  there  is  left  of  them!" 

"Really?  Look  at  our  regiment.  Is  it  at  full 
strength?  Have  its  numbers  been  made  up  to  what 
they  were  at  the  start  ?  Yes.  Well,  it's  the  same  thing 
everywhere.  All  the  depots  have  supplied  men.  As 
we  fell  back  we  recuperated  our  reserves  while',  as  long 
as  their  communications  go  on  -extending,  their 
front  loses  in  density.  They  are  no  longer  so  irri- 


A  Word  in  Season  423 

imensely  superior  to  us  in  numbers  as  they  were  at 
Ithe  beginning,  and  their  movements  are  anything 
'  but  free.  Maubeuge  was  not  taken  yesterday. " 

"But  it  will  be  to-day." 

"One  day  gained." 

"Oh,  yes!  That's  a  good  joke,  that  idea  about 
holding  out. " 

"Holding  out,  exactly.  We've  got  to  the  thirty- 
fifth  day  of  war.  According  to  the  German  plans, 
we  were  to  be  annihilated  by  that  date.  Are  we? 
No.  There  are  all  kinds  of  things  lacking. " 

"All  kinds?"  Fortin  said  ironically. 

"Our  line  is  not  broken  anywhere;  we  have  only 
wheeled.  You  spoke  of  Nancy  just  now.  They'd 
better  come  and  take  it  from  Castelnau!  Do  you 
really  want  to  know  what  I  think?  I  think  they're 
the  ones  that  are  in  the  soup. " 

A  buzz  of  scepticism  greeted  my  declaration.  I 
continued: 

"First  of  all,  here  they  are  forced  to  take  how 
many? — three  or  four  army  corps  back  to  the 
East." 

"To  the  East?    Why?" 

"Against  the  Russians." 

"Where  did  you  get  hold  of  that  idea?" 

"In  the  papers." 

"Are  they  to  be  had?" 

"If  you  look  for  them." 

I  shook  them. 

"You're  not  curious!  You  know  nothing,  then? 
Not  even  you,  Fortin?  Really?  Nothing  of  our 
Allies'  successes?" 

He  raised  himself. 

"But  look  here,  are  these  tales  serious?" 


424  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"What  d'you  mean?  Their  advance  exceeds  all 
expectations." 

I  summed  up  the  triple  Slav  offensive  in  Prussia, 
Galicia,  and  Bosnia. 

They  seemed  to  doubt  my  statements.  I  abruptly 
pulled  a  newspaper  out  of  my  pocket,  spread  it  out, 
and  read  out  the  headlines  of  the  articles.  I  called 
their  attention  to  the  illustration,  a  mighty  Cossack 
pointing  his  lance  at  Berlin. 

They  pressed  round  me,  crushing  me,  their  hands 
seizing  the  paper  and  their  eyes  devouring  the  con- 
tents. When  their  first  thirst  was  allayed  I  continued 
in  the  most  serious  tone : 

"There's  a  first  motive  for  confidence.  For  the 
second?  .  .  .  But  you've  only  got  to  look  at  these 
Sunday  crowds.  Talk  to  them  and  you'll  soon  see. 
We  are  seeing  Paris  at  her  most  noble  aspect.  Don't 
you  realise  that  we  are  living  through  the  most  glor- 
ious days  in  our  history?  For  the  first  time  we 
have  avoided  weakening  ourselves  by  political  con- 
vulsions in  the  face  of  danger.  That  will  save  us, 
simply." 

Some  of  them  nodded  in  approval.  Fortin  tried  to 
weaken  the  impression  I  had  made. 

"The  papers  say  what  they  choose." 

I  attacked  him. 

"And  what  about  you — what  are  your  statements 
based  on?" 

"I  should  be  only  too  glad,"  he  protested,  "to  see 
things  take  a  turn  for  the  better. " 

"  No,  you  don't  wish  for  our  success, "  I  cried.  "  Or 
at  least  not  ardently  enough.  You  are  the  victim  of 
your  standpoint.  For  months  now  you  have  been 
repeating  in  your  lectures  and  articles  that  you  know 


A  Word  in  Season  425 

Germany  inside  out ;  that  she  is  powerful  and  irresist- 
ible; that  the  future  of  Europe  lies  with  her  while  we 
merely  represent  a  past  about  to  vanish.  Ever  since 
the  beginning  of  the  campaign  you've  been  waiting, 
with  bowed  head,  for  your  prophecies  to  be  fulfilled. 
I  can  imagine  you  warning  your  companions  that 
'that  will  not  last, '  whenever  any  good  news  arrives, 
and  saying,  'I  told  you  so!'  at  each  setback.  And  if 
you  regret  it  as  a  Frenchman,  which  is  quite  possible, 
it's  quite  obvious  that  as  a  philosophical  witness 
you  unconsciously  rejoice.  You  misrepresent  the 
reality.  Your  vision  is  warped.  You  immediately 
look  at  the  worst  side  when  endless  possibilities  are 
open  to  you.  Do  you  wonder  that  the  future  looks 
black  to  you  in  such  circumstances?  But  the  most 
annoying  part  is  that  you  demoralise  those  around 
you.  I  implore  you  to  make  an  effort.  Try  to  be 
impartial  and  honest.  Consider  all  the  signs  in  our 
favour  to-day." 

I  continued.  I  was  speaking  quickly,  overcoming 
the  obscure  embarrassment  which  usually  paralyses 
me,  when  it  is  a  question  of  holding  the  attention  of  an 
audience.  I  let  my  conviction  burst  forth.  I  poured 
out  the  arguments  I  had  collected  in  an  imperious 
flood.  By  expressing  them  I  discovered  in  them  fresh 
truth  and  amplitude.  Far  from  becoming  involved 
and  detracting  from  each  other,  they  grouped  them- 
selves into  harmonious  chains. 

I  extolled  the  morale  of  the  troops;  that  morale  at 
which  we  all  expressed  ourselves  surprised,  and  Fortin 
most  of  all.  Surprised?  Why  not  say  exalted? 
Behind  us  the  nation  gave  proof  of  its  indomitable 
spirit.  I  laid  stress  upon  the  superiority  of  our 
generals;  the  young  blood  introduced  in  high  places, 


426  Ordeal  by  Fire 

the  incapables  placed  on  the  retired  list;  and  the 
prodigious  problem  represented  in  a  retreat  of  those 
dimensions  when  the  whole  line  must  keep  in  touch, 
and  never  cease  for  an  instant  to  harass  the  enemy. 

I  suddenly  shifted  my  ground,  and  reverted  to  the 
international  situation  which  I  ventured  to  depict 
in  broad  and  summary  terms.  The  Triple  Alliance 
disintegrated.  Austria  beaten  and  occupied  in 
decimating  her  Tchek  troops.  Italy,  non-committal, 
had  perhaps  already  made  up  her  mind  to  intervene, 
but  on  our  side  to  save  her  children  in  the  Trentino, 
and  in  Trieste;  the  Balkans,  waiting  silently  in  the 
darkness,  like  a  bird  of  prey,  for  the  death  rattle  of  the 
first  to  be  conquered,  to  claim  a  share  of  the  carcass. 
Turkey  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance.  On  our  side 
the  Russian  giant  only  inaugurating  the  effort  which 
he  was  capable  of  increasing  for  months  and  years. 
The  English  contributing  their  incontestable  mastery 
of  the  seas,  the  omnipotence  of  their  gold,  the  land 
forces  fed  by  their  insular  and  colonial  reservoirs. 
Belgium  and  Serbia,  little  nations  with  unquenchable 
spirits — yonder  on  the  other  surface  of  the  globe,  the 
Land  of  the  Rising  Sun  throwing  its  weight  into  the 
balance.  The  world,  in  fact,  in  coalition  against 
the  insolent  race  which  aimed  at  hegemony  without 
in  any  way  justifying  it. 

At  first  they  had  listened  to  me  with  a  smile  as  if  it 
were  an  excellent  joke.  Little  by  little  the  incredu- 
lous curl  to  their  lips  died  away.  Fortin  repeatedly 
punctuated  my  remarks  with  "Exactly,  exactly!" 

A  last  allusion  on  Laraque's  part  to  my  reputation 
for  "having  people  on"  fell  flat. 

I  gaily  ventured  on  new  developments.  I  lost  sight 
of  myself.  I  became  really  inspired.  It  intoxicated 


A  Word  in  Season  427 

me  to  attain  to  such  unlooked-for  ardour.  I  do  not 
remember  quite  what  I  said.  I  know  that  my  com- 
rades, with  half-opened  lips  and  eyes  fixed  on  mine, 
hung  on  my  words,  and  that  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life  I  endured  all  these  gazes  bent  on  me  without  false 
shame. 

Our  side  was  that  of  Justice,  of  international 
fidelity,  and  respect  for  treaties,  of  Morality,  written 
or  unwritten.  I  was  not  afraid  of  bringing  up  these 
popular  commonplaces,  and  I  clearly  dissociated  our 
cause,  even  from  that  of  the  Allies.  We  were  the 
only  nation  with  completely  unsullied  hands,  and 
peace-loving  hearts.  We  were  the  only  ones  who, 
drawn  into  the  struggle  against  our  will,  in  bearing  the 
heaviest  burden,  were  fighting  for  our  very  existence. 
I  asked  them  to  think  what  the  French  mind  meant  to 
the  world,  what  would  be  missing  in  the  progress  of 
humanity  in  the  future  if  we  let  ourselves  be  over- 
come. We  were  not  only  defending  our  immediate 
interests,  but  a  certain  smiling  Reason,  a  certain 
completed  and  definite  genius  whose  secret  to-day  we 
alone  possessed.  It  was  a  decisive  conflict.  Fortin 
was  right  about  that.  If  we  were  conquered  again 
this  time,  we  should  always  be.  It  would  mean  that 
our  name  would  be  scratched  off  the  list  of  leading 
nations,  our  colonies  sacrificed,  three  or  four  provinces 
torn  from  our  Mother-country,  who  in  future  would 
fall  a  prey,  every  ten  years,  to  the  appetites  of  the 
conqueror. 

The  end  of  France  was  what  the  aggressors  wanted. 
To  extinguish  this  blazing  hearth  of  liberty  arid  light, 
to  smother  this  ringing  voice  -continually  calling  the 
nations  to  the  realisation  of  themselves,  and  to  those 
in  power  to  respect  the  down-trodden.  '  '  '  • '  • 


428  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Ah,  my  friends,  what  an  hour  it  was  to  strain  our 
faculties,  to  prove  ourselves  worthy  of  our  humbler 
brothers  who  were  showing  such  self-sacrifice  and 
instinctive  heroism !  We  others  ought  to  be  strength- 
ened by  our  education.  I  dared  to  plead  the  memo- 
ries of  the  soil  which  bore  us.  I  evoked  the  rolling 
uplands  of  Champagne  where  we  had  lingered  yester- 
day and  where  we  might  return  again,  summoned  by 
the  melancholy  accents  of  the  guns.  How  many 
battles  had  been  fought  and  won  there  by  men  of  our 
blood!  They  were  the  Catalonian  fields,  where,  at 
the  dawn  of  our  history,  the  hordes  of  barbarians 
already  issuing  from  Germany  had  spent  themselves 
against  the  vigour  of  the  Gauls,  the  allies  of  Aetius. 
And  was  it  not  just  a  few  miles  away,  on  the  hills  and 
in  the  valleys  which  to-morrow's  prodigious  engage- 
ment would  perhaps  gain  for  the  enemy,  that  the 
astonishing  episodes  in  the  French  campaign  had 
been  enacted,  a  hundred  years  ago!  Champaubert, 
Sesanne,  Montmirail,  and  again  Meaux  and  Moret. 
It  was  there  that  our  fathers,  children  of  sixteen,  the 
last  class  eligible  for  mobilisation,  had  held  out  for 
weeks,  flying  from  one  valley  to  another,  inflicting 
defeat  after  defeat  on  an  enemy  five  times  more 
numerous,  on  the  European  coalition!  And  we, 
after  a  long  peace,  well-taught,  well-led,  animated 
with  the  breath  of  civism — should  we  not  find  a  way  to 
hurl  back  over  our  frontiers  the  enemy  whom  Napo- 
leon had  trodden  under  his  heel? 

I  was  afraid  to  end  up  with  a  high-flown,  tirade.  I 
uttered  my  closing  sentences  in  a  softer  voice,  as  if  out 
of  breath.  I  was  still  quivering  and,  with  my  eyes 
on  the  ground,  I  threw  some  pebbles  from  one  hand  to 
the  other,  backwards  and  forwards. 


A  Word  in  Season  429 

There  was  a  silence.  Laraque  broke  it  with  a 
joke.  "An  aeroplane!"  he  announced.  And  it  was 
a  hawk!  Other  frivolous  remarks  followed.  Sud- 
denly chilled,  I  asked  myself  whether  my  words  had 
missed  fire. 

I  had  no  more  fear  about  it  a  moment  afterwards,  as 
we  went  back  to  billets — slight,  striking  indications — 
they  all  had  more  life  in  their  movements,  something 
firmer  in  their  tones. 

Fortin  had  murmured:  "I  think  Dreher's  right." 

We  were  just  about  to  disperse  near  our  school, 
when  some  cavalry  turned  out  of  a  side  street.  We 
saluted  the  officer  at  their  head,  a  colonel.  He  urged 
his  mount  towards  us : 

"Hi,  there,  you  foot-sloggers,  read  that!" 

He  held  out  a  paper,  which  Fortin  handed  to  me 
without  a  word. 

Why  me?  I  hesitated  about  unfolding  it.  The 
others  shouted:  "Yes,  yes,  give  it  to  Dreher,  that's 
it!" 

I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  dream.  At  the  first  glance 
I  understood.  A  proclamation  signed  "Joffre. " 

I  said :"Call  the  others!" 

The  signal  had  already  been  given.  A  torrent  of 
men  flowed  in  from  all  the  different  companies.  There 
was  a  bench  just  by.  I  got  up  on  to  it.  From  there  I 
dominated  the  crowd  which  was  gathering  round  me 
in  increasing  numbers.  Soon  half  the  regiment  was 
there,  and  some  passers-by  joined  on.  There  were 
shouts  of:  "Listen!  Listen'"  Then  a  dead  silence. 

I  began  to  read,  subconsciously  approving  the  way 
in  which  I  raised  my  voice  and  scanned  each  syllable. 
It  was  the  famous  order  of  the  day,  which  has  so  often 
been  reproduced  since  then 


430  Ordeal  by  Fire 

"At  the  moment  in  which  a  battle  is  beginning  upon 
which  the  fate  of  the  nation  hangs  .  .  .  Troops 
which  can  no  longer  advance  must  be  killed  where 
they  stand  rather  than  give  ground." 

Not  a  syllable  escaped  me.  Not  a  soul  asked  for 
it  to  be  read  again.  A  ripple  ran  over  this  dumb 
throng.  I  jumped  to  the  ground,  and  got  lost  in  the 
crush.  What  intuition  urged  me  to  make  a  dash 
for  our  billets?  Hardly  had  I  crossed  the  threshold — 
how  quickly  things  happened! — before  a  whistle  was 
blown. 

Humel,  who  was  corporal  of  the  day,  ran  by  like  a 
flash.  "Come  along!  On  with  your  pack !" 

' '  Are  we  off  again  ? ' ' 

"That's  it!" 

Guillaumin  appeared. 

"Off  we  go '" 

De  Valpic  was  the  next  to  turn  up:  "You  read  that 
splendidly!" 

I  soon  noticed  a  sort  of  irresolution  among  the  men, 
due  to  surprise  more  than  anything  else.  Start 
again!  When  they  thought  they  were  going  to  have 
several  days'  rest!  And  they  had  felt  so  sure  that 
there  would  be  no  more  fighting  in  the  open  for  them ! 

Some  of  them  had  instinctively  gathered  round  me : 
Judsi,  Bouillon,  Corporal  Bouguet,  Icard,  and  Gaude"- 
reaux.  They  were  puzzled,  too,  but  only  asked  to 
have  things  explained.  They  asked  me  about  the 
paper  that  I  had  read  out.  Several  of  them  had  not 
been  there. 

"We'll  have  it  again  for  you!" 

This  time  I  choked  with  emotion  at  the  last  lines. 
I  added: 

"Look  here!     The  Bosches  think  we're  not  worth 


A  Word  in  Season  431 

taking  into  account.  They  think  we're  safely  shut  up 
in  the  camp.  We're  going  to  fall  upon  them  in  the 
rear!" 

Their  faces  suddenly  cleared. 

"Good  biz!"  said  Judsi.  "Wot  a  lark!  Lor',  the 
blighters!  Wot  a  biff  we'll  give  'em!" 

It  was  like  a  fuse  followed  by  an  explosion  of 
gaiety.  Some  of  the  men  were  already  buckling  on 
their  packs,  and  others  pulling  on  their  boots  and 
doing  them  up.  Bouguet  began  to  sing  at  the  top  of 
his  voice : 

We  don't  care  a  blow! 

Tra-la-la-la. 

We  don't  care  a  blow! 

Lamalou  spoilt  his  effect. 

"Wot  do  you  mean,  'don't  care  a  blow'?" 

They  went  on  getting  ready  to  a  chorus  of  jests. 
They  might  have  been  starting  off  for  a  holiday. 

Directly  I  was  fully  equipped,  I  went  out  and  was 
one  of  the  first  to  get  into  the  avenue.  I  could  not 
master  the  transport  which  swept  me  off  my  feet,  at 
the  thought  of  going  into  action.  Of  taking  the 
offensive  again!  The  captain  must  have  second 
sight — and  the  time  was  not  past.  Our  chance  was 
intact,  indeed,  increased.  Heavens!  All  that  I  had 
hoped  for  was  coming  to  pass.  Let  me  confess  my 
vanity,  my  childish  simplicity.  I  was  actually  under 
the  delusion  that  if  our  luck  was  turning,  it  was  my 
reward,  for  having  drawn  myself  out  of  the  pit  to  help 
others. 

And  was  I  so  verjT  much  mistaken?  Was  I  not 
responsible  for  a  small  share  in  this  immortal  decision  ? 


432  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Would  our  leaders  have  taken  such  a  risk — it  was  a 
bold  move! — if  those  waves  of  faith  and  enthusiasm, 
which  a  few  of  us  had  raised,  had  not  spread  from  our 
watchful  quarters  right  away  to  them? 


BOOK  IX 
September 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FINAL   ANTICIPATION 

WE  started  that  evening  from  Rosny-sous-Bois, 
and  spent  part  of  the  night  in  the  train,  slipping 
along  at  an  indolent  pace.  We  had  not  the  least 
idea  where  we  were  being  taken  to.  During  the 
last  hour,  the  rumble  of  the  guns  began  to  make 
itself  heard.  We  were  rolling  slowly  towards  it. 

The  day  was  breaking  when  we  got  out  of  the 
truck.  A  lot  of  men  had  dozed,  and  had  puffy  faces, 
and  dirty  tongues. 

There  was  a  persistent  rumour  that  if  we  stopped 
in  the  open  country,  it  meant  that  the  line  was  cut. 
There  was  a  station  not  far  off;  Ducostal  bicycled  to  it 
and  told  us  when  he  came  back  that  it  was  Nanteuil- 
le-Haudoin. 

The  colonel  held  a  consultation  with  his  officers. 

Henriot  was  rather  pale  when  he  reappeared.  He 
took  me  aside  and  told  me  in  confidence  that  they  had 
just  been  introduced  to  a  regulation  concerning  them. 
All  commanders  of  units  whose  men  showed  signs 
of  faltering  "would  be  held  personally  responsible." 
38  433 


434  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  sounded  me. 

"Do  you  think  that  means  that  we  should — be 
shot?"  " 

"Exactly!  You're  lucky  to  have  a  platoon  like 
ours!" 

"That's  true, "  he  said,  regaining  his  self-possession. 

I  added:  "While  the  first — for  instance!" 

"Well,  well?" 

I  stopped,  and  did  not  give  him  my  reasons. 

Playoust  had  left  us,  when  we  started  from  Neuilly. 
Surprised  by  the  sudden  order  transferring  him  to 
the  ammunition  train,  he  swaggered  as  he  went  off. 
What  an  escape !  He  was  sure  to  get  through  all  right 
now !  We  had  not  had  the  courage  to  refuse  to  shake 
hands  with  him.  Only  Guillaumin  had  warned  him: 

"Don't  you  keep  us  short  of  ammunition,  or  you'll 
hear  about  it!" 

The  troop  train  which  had  brought  us  shunted  and 
made  way  for  the  next  one  which  disgorged  the  fifth 
battalion.  The  same  thing  was  going  on  in  front 
of  us  and  behind  us.  We  must  be  detraining  in  force, 
the  whole  division  apparently. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock  when  we  started  off  again 
towards  the  village  lying  about  a  mile  and  a  half  away. 
The  guns  boomed  incessantly  behind  the  rising  ground 
near  by.  It  was  only  a  few  hours  since  Nanteuil  had 
been  evacuated  by  the  enemy.  I  expected  the  same 
vision  of  destruction  and  smoking  ruins  which 
had  appalled  us  so  many  times  near  the  Meuse.  No. 
The  houses  were  standing  and  intact;  but  they  had 
certainly  taken  their  share  of  plunder.  I  can  recall 
a  grocery  shop  which  had  been  ransacked.  The  con- 
tents of  sacks,  drawers,  boxes,  and  bottles,  too,  formed 
a  swamp  on  the  tiles,  into  which  the  shop-woman, 


Final  Anticipation  435 

when  she  left  her  counter — I  am  not  exaggerating — 
sank  up  to  her  waist. 

A  foul  smell  hung  about.  We  had  not  been  spoilt, 
as  may  be  imagined,  in  the  way  of  odours,  since  the 
beginning  of  the  campaign.  Nothing  had  come  any- 
where near  this,  however.  The  Bosches  had  left 
their  nauseous  traces  when  they  went.  It  was  the 
same  thing  everywhere — a  manifestation  of  their 
Kulturl 

The  rare  inhabitants  who  had  stayed,  not  more  than 
a  hundred  all  told,  who  greeted  us  on  the  pavements, 
had  only  one  expression  for  them,  which  they  repeated 
between  their  cheers: 

"Ah,  the  swine!" 

We  halted  for  a  short  time  at  the  entrance  to  a 
square.  Kind  women  brought  us  wine  (goodness 
knows  how  they  had  managed  to  keep  it) ,  and  other 
people  took  us  to  their  homes  with  them. 

I  let  myself  be  persuaded,  but  soon  came  back, 
sickened.  The  state  of  filth  in  which  the  Huns  had 
left  these  houses  was  totally  indescribable  in  polite 
language.  It  made  me  feel  extremely  ill — the  hogs! — 
but  our  poilus  were  more  inclined  to  laugh. 

For  all  that  no  great  crimes  seemed  to  have  been 
committed.  One  matron  holding  a  little  boy  of  five 
by  the  hand  was  shrieking  that  one  of  the  brigands  had 
held  the  barrel  of  his  revolver  to  his  temple.  But 
judging  by  the  round  and  rosy  appearance  of  the 
kid,  a  stupid-looking  child,  not  much  harm  had  been 
done. 

We  started  off  again.  Another  old  dame  hobbled 
after  us  with  a  tale  of  some  terrible  tragedy.  They'd 
had  the  cheek  to  commandeer  her  donkey,  and  to 
make  it  work  all  day ;  the  poor  animal  was  simply  worn 


436  Ordeal  by  Fire 

out!  They  harnessed  it  to  a  furniture  van!  And 
then  in  the  evening — to  end  up  with — they  had  shot, 
skinned,  and  roasted  it! 

Judsi  thought  it  all  a  farce,  and  laughed  in  the 
old  woman's  face: 

"A  relation  of  yours,  was  it?" 

She  fell  behind,  in  a  fury,  calling  us  good-for- 
nothings. 

We  followed  a  paved  street,  then  a  cross-road,  till 
we  came  to  a  wood.  We  went  into  it  and  piled  arms. 

I  sat  down  with  my  back  against  a  tree,  while 
Guillaumin  and  the  subaltern  went  off  into  the 
thicket.  De  Valpic  came  and  joined  me:  ^ 

"I  believe  things  will  go  all  right  this^ime, "  he 
said. 

I  repeated  my  conversation  with  the  captain. 
Jove,  the  man's  powers  of  divination  could  not  be 
exaggerated,  but  he  might  be  mistaken  in 

"The  miracle  of  this  war  is  at  hand,"  De  Valpic 
continued.  "  I'm  convinced  of  it. "  His  eyes  shone. 
He  murmured:  "You'll  see  it — you'll  see  it  all  right." 

"And  why  not  you?" 

He  shook  his  head.     "No.     I — I  shall  stay  there. " 

"Nonsense!"  I  upbraided  him.  What  was  this 
childishness?  He  was  no  more  exposed  than  I  was, 
or  any  of  us  for  that  matter !  Why  give  up  hope  like 
this? 

He  stopped  me.  "Just  think  a  minute.  Isn't 
it  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  me?" 

"Got  as  far  as  that?" 

"How  do  you  mean  'as  far  as  that'?" 

He  had  a  fit  of  coughing  which  brought  colour  into 
his  cheeks  and  tears  into  his  eyes.  "When  one  has 
— faith!"  he  said,  "it  is  less  horrible — in  fact  it  is  not 


Final  Anticipation  437 

horrible.  What  about  you,  Dreher?  Have  you 
never  been  a  believer?"  he  asked. 

"Yes, "  I  said.  "  My  mother  was  very  religious.  I 
was  brought  up  in  those  ideas.  I  remember  that  at 
my  confirmation  my  one  wish,  just  think  of  it,  was  to 
become  a  priest  or  missionary.  I  kept  on  going  to 
mass  and  that  sort  of  thing  for  some  years;  but  since 
then — no,  that's  all  over.  But  I  can  quite  understand 
people  believing. " 

De  Valpic  shook  his  head.  "How  can  unbelievers 
bear  the  idea  of  death?" 

"There's  nothing  to  be  done  but  fly  from  it. " 

"Impossible!"  He  lowered  his  voice.  "For  me, 
for  instance ! ' ' 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

He  continued:  "Of  course  if  one  thought  of  death 
as  annihilation  in  the  dark,  if  one  thought  that 
nothing,  nothing  would  survive  of  this  substance,  that 
one  was — Ah!  How  dream  of  that  without  terror! 
I  can  understand  shutting  one's  eyes  to  it  then.  And, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  seems  to  me  that  to  live  without 
thinking  of  death,  and  without  thinking  of  it  often, 
is  to  blind  oneself,  to  renounce  all  broad  and  free 
judgment.  How  well  religion  provides  for  all  that! 
What  courage  it  gives  to  the  dying,  as  well  as  to  the 
living !  And  is  not  all  wisdom  resumed  in  this :  to  give 
courage  to  man  ? — I  was  talking  to  you  of  my  fiancee 
yesterday;  she  believes.  Otherwise  would  she  have 
continued  to  be  engaged  to  me  when  she  knew  I  was 
ill,  and  would  she  have  let  me  go,  expecting  that  I 
should  not  come  back ?"  He  smiled.  "I  don't  want 
to  preach  to  you,  Dreher,  but  as  you  once  were  one  of 
Us,  let  me  remind  you  that  the  God  in  whom  we  hope  is 
just.  Because  our  people's  hope,  throughout  the 


438  Ordeal  by  Fire 

ages,  has  been  in  Him;  because  our  nation  has  been  the 
elder  daughter  of  His  Church,  I  believe  that  His  hand 
is  upon  us.  Will  He  allow  us  to  succumb?  No. 
Listen !  This  miracle  I  was  talking  about — at  heart 
you  expect  it  just  as  I  do — if  I  have  entire  confidence  in 
it,  it  is  because  I  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  order 
superior  to  man;  in  a  Providence,  if  you  will,  that  will 
not  allow  the  accomplishment  of  such  iniquity.  Our 
country  will  be  saved  because  she  will  deserve  to  go  on 
living.  How  good  it  is  to  fight,  when  one  does  not 
feel  that  one  is  fighting  amidst  the  cold  concatenation 
of  phenomena,  but  in  the  conviction  that  a  supreme 
tutelary  force  upholds  and  directs  our  efforts." 

I  considered  him  as  he  sat  there  with  his  chin  in  his 
hands  and  black  lines  under  his  eyes.  So  he  had 
'  been  through  the  deep  waters  at  the  beginning,  when 
he  had  had  to  tear  himself  away  from  the  hope  of 
human  happiness.  Now  he  was  resigned  to  it.  He 
was  not  lying  when  he  said  that  he  looked  forward  to 
his  certain  end,  which  was  so  near  at  hand,  without 
horror.  His  glorious  smile  retained  confidence  in  the 
future  beyond  the  grave.  It  was  only  a  relative  end, 
a  transition  whose  anguish  was  attenuated  since  he 
was  sure  of  living  again  with  those  whom  he  loved. 

Oh,  the  consolation  in  religion !  This  association  of 
well-worn  words  recovered  its  full  meaning  in  my  eyes. 
Nothing  but  faith  could  raise  man  to  such  abnegation. 
The  profound  and  primitive  instinct,  an  instinct 
comparable  to  love  in  its  folly  and  grandeur ! 

I  was  tempted,  for  a  moment,  to  admit  that  that 
also  was  being  reborn  in  me.  And  then,  no — -no!  I 
assured  myself  that  I  had  been  separated  from  it 
beyond  return,  by  rriy  reading  and  speculations. 
This  past  would  never  blossom  again.  At  least  I 


Final  Anticipation  439 

recalled  the  memory  of  it  with  tenderness.  For  a  long 
time  I  had  thought  myself  rallied  to  the  quizzical 
scepticism  of  Laquarriere  and  his  like.  How  many 
ties  still  bound  me  to  the  unsophisticated  child  that  I 
had  been.  I  would  have  the  sons  that  Jeannine  gave 
me  brought  up  in  the  lap  of  Catholicism,  too.  Neither 
their  mother  nor  I  would  take  any  steps  to  convert 
them  to  pitiless  reason  too  soon.  Like  us  they  might, 
later  on,  be  led  away  by  the  trend  of  modern  thought 
and  forsake  religion,  but  their  stay  in  its  realm  would 
leave  them  like  me  with  respect  for  the  Illusion 
reflected  in  certain  eyes. 

Guillaumin  came  to  tell  us  that  it  would  not  be  long 
before  we  started,  the  regiment  next  us  was  on  the 
move.  "What  a  glorious  day!"  he  exclaimed. 

The  eight  o'clock  sun  was  slipping  through  the 
tracery  of  the  branches  on  to  the  leaves  grown  rusty 
at  the  approach  of  autumn.  The  air  was  mild  and 
warm.  Swarms  of  midges  were  flying  about.  We 
caught  the  hum  of  mosquitoes'  wings,  but  they 
did  not  sting.  The  men  were  rolling  about  on  the 
moss;  our  Parisians  conjured  up  the  delights  of  the 
Bois  de  Verrieres. 

We  all  three  went  to  the  edge  of  the  little  wood. 
De  Valpic  stretched  out  his  arms  and  drank  in  the 
health-giving  air,  soaked  with  light. 

"Ah!  How  good  it  is!"  he  said.  "How  one  lives 
here!  How  one  realises — too  late — that  one  was 
ill-suited  for  living  in  towns,  that  one  would  have  done 
better  in  beautiful  country  like  this!" 

Guillaumin  laughed.  "A  little  flat,  this  country. 
It's  certainly  not  up  to  Argonne ! " 

"My  dear  chap,  don't  talk  like  a  snob.  Just  put 
your  prejudices  aside  for  a  moment,  and  take  a  look. " 


44°  Ordeal  by  Fire 

De  Valpic  playfully  made  us  admire  the  trees,  the 
play  of  the  sunlight  and  the  breeze,  the  immense  vista 
on  the  right,  over  a  sea  of  waving  corn,  and  down 
below  those  wooded  islets,  outposts  of  the  deep  forests 
which,  we  knew,  dominated  the  surrounding  country. 
The  sweetly  named  lie  de  France,  the  land  of  plenty 
and  of  poetry — the  most  pleasant  climate  in  the  world. 
Senlis  and  Compiegne,  a  few  miles  away — Jean 
Jacques'  Ermenonville  gracious  legends  spring  from 
this  soil.  Not  far  off  Gerard  de  Nerval  had  sung  of 
Sylvia. 

His  playfulness  was  not  assumed.  We  listened  to 
him  captivated.  I  tasted  in  his  conversation  a  sort 
of  funereal  charm.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  listening  to 
Socrates  conversing  with  his  disciples  as  he  drank 
the  hemlock. 

The  air  was  filled  with  whirring  sounds.  We  had  a 
vivid  and  fleeting  vision  of  two  aeroplanes,  a  French 
one  and  a  Taube,  passing  over  our  heads,  struggling 
for  height  and  speed,  engaged  in  a  duel  to  the  death, 
both  of  them  armed  with  machine-guns  which  crackled 
under  the  open  sky. 

They  were  just  on  the  point  of  vanishing  when 
suddenly  the  German  one  dipped.  The  pilot  was  no 
doubt  hit.  The  wings  folded  and  it  dropped  like  a 
stone. 

"A  good  omen!"  Guillaumin  exclaimed. 

Twenty  minutes  afterwards  we  started. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

i 

WE   TAKE   UP   OUR   POSITION 

A  MAGNIFICENTLY  monotonous  memory,  our  march 
that  day.  It  lasted  from  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning 
until  six  o'clock  at  night.  Its  scene  was  a  vast  table- 
land, completely  exposed,  fields  of  beetroot  alternating 
with  fields  of  corn  and  oats.  The  harvest  had  been 
got  in  nearly  everywhere.  There  were  groups  of 
stacks  by  the  roadside. 

Directly  we  came  out  of  the  woods,  we  were  marked 
by  the  hostile  artillery.  Their  object  was  to  stop  us 
at  any  price  by  their  tirs  de  barrage.  The  rumbling 
went  on  all  day  without  a  pause.  It  is  impossible  to 
give  any  idea  of  the  horror  of  it.  By  midday,  every- 
one of  us  was  deaf. 

The  diabolical  jaws  of  the  horizon!  Big  and  little 
German  guns  were  talking.  Our  75*3  retorted — rather 
feebly,  it  is  true.  The  distance  must  have  been  too 
great,  and  apparently  did  not  silence  a  single  one  of 
the  enemy's  batteries. 

This  plain  was  a  hell,  a  hell:  iron  and  fire,  every 
imaginable  peril,  a  conspiracy  of  the  elements.  To 
begin  with,  there  was  a  continuous  flight  of  Teuton 
aeroplanes  above  our  heads,  dropping  bombs  of  differ- 
ent kinds,  which  fell  with  a  muffled  sound.  The  din 
of  the  big  "coal-boxes,"  the  shriek  of  the  77's,  the 

44i 


442  Ordeal  by  Fire 

thunder-clap  of  explosions,  and  the  columns  of  tainted 
smoke  staking  out  the  ground. 

Our  regiment  went  on  advancing;  so  did  one  on  our 
right  and  one  on  our  left,  and  others  farther  away. 
Our  soldiers  were  swarming  as  far  as  eye  could  see,  a 
calm  and  regular  deployment.  We  marched  for  a 
long  time  by  platoons,  in  columns  of  four;  then  by 
platoons  two  deep;  and  at  last  in  skirmishing  order; 
each  officer,  each  N.  C.  0.,  each  connecting  file  in  his 
place.  The  silence  and  impeccable  order  were  in 
striking  contrast  with  the  blind  fury  of  the  projectiles. 
Mind  against  matter. 

All  our  men  had  realised  the  solemnity  of  the  task. 
Three  quarters  of  them  were  experienced  heroes,  who 
had  already  fought  ten  times;  the  rest  were  raised  to 
the  same  moral  level  by  virtue  of  their  surroundings. 
There  could  be  nothing  more  impressive  than  this 
sustained  and  irresistible  advance,  under  shell  fire, 
of  thousands  and  thousands  of  men  who  never  fired  a 
single  shot. 

By  a  miracle,  our  casualties,  on  the  whole,  were  not 
very  severe.  What  unflagging  inspiration  was  shown 
by  our  leaders  of  all  ranks !  Imperceptible,  serpentine 
movements  protected  each, unit  in  turn  from  the  mortal 
line  of  fire.  How  many  times  did  we  see  a  broadside  of 
four  "coal-boxes"  fall  just  where  we  had  been  hardly 
thirty  seconds  before,  or  else  where  we  would  have 
been  but  for  a  fortunate  zigzag!  What  hazard 
protected  us?  I  protest  that  one  was  tempted  to 
bow  before  a  Providence,  like  De  Valpic.  The  men 
betrayed  this  feeling,  murmuring: 

"We  are  blessed! " 

We  advanced  at  the  double,  lay  down  and  got  up 
again,  just  as  at  manoeuvres.  What  am  I  saying? 


We  Take  up  Our  Position         443 

Better  than  that.  We  kept  our  intervals  and  direction 
with  incredible  exactitude.  There  was  not  a  straggler 
or  funk  among  us.  All  honour  to  these  proud  troops, 
these  splendid  soldiers!  They  are  dead — dead,  nearly 
all  of  them.  They  appeared  to  feel,  in  the  vague 
intuition  of  their  flesh,  in  the  vibration  of  the  nourish- 
ing air,  that  their  end,  even  if  they  survived  to- 
morrow's sanguinary  triumph,  was  inscribed  on  the 
pages  of  the  disastrous  winter  or  the  fatal  spring  to 
come.  There  was  no  sadness  or  despair,  but  some- 
thing indescribably  resigned  and  shy  crept  into  their 
gait.  Joking  was  out  of  date.  Judsi  himself  had  put 
a  damper  on  his  animation.  We  kept  on  and  gained 
ground.  At  one  point — the  wonders  could  not  be 
repeated  indefinitely — a  single  rafale  on  our  left 
mowed  down  about  forty  men.  We  did  not  slacken 
our  pace — hardly  turned  our  heads. 

We  went  on  in  a  rising  tide,  and  I  thought  how  the 
sight  of  this  inexorable  multitude  rolling  towards 
them,  like  God's  judgment,  must  strike  terror  into 
the  hearts  of  the  enemy's  gunners. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  we  neared  a  wood.  I  was 
very  much  afraid  lest  the  hostile  infantry  might  be 
hidden  there,  watching  for  us.  Those  barricades  of 
trees  looked  most  suspicious.  Our  reconnoitring  patrol 
went  on  ahead  of  us.  I  trembled  for  their  safety.  The 
rest  of  us  lay  down  and  waited  in  an  agony  of  fear. 
Not  a  shot  was  fired.  What  a  relief  it  was  when 
the  wood  turned  out  to  be  unoccupied — by  living 
men,  at  all  events. 

When  we,  in  our  turn,  penetrated  into  it,  we  found 
it  strewn  with  dead  bodies.  What  a  struggle  must 
have  raged  there  during  the  last  few  days!  There 


444  Ordeal  by  Fire 

was  not  much  undergrowth,  which  made  it  propitious 
for  hand-to-hand  fighting.  The  scene  was  re-enacted 
in  my  mind.  The  Bosches  about  to  continue  their 
defensive  organisation,  surprised  by  the  attack 
of  the  rifle  brigade — our  dead  bore  this  uniform.  The 
furious  onslaught  with  the  sword.  We  had  driven 
them  back  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  and  massacred 
them  wholesale.  In  advancing,  we  came  upon  heaps 
of  Germans.  We  had  lost  a  great  many  men,  too,  but 
they  had  cleared  the  way  for  us.  We  were  duly 
grateful  to  them  and  the  men  stepped  carefully  and 
reverently  over  their  remains  as  they  advanced  in 
single  file. 

"Pore  old  chaps!"  sighed  Icard.  "You're 
havin'  a  rest  now  and  it's  our  turn  to  do  the 
swottin'." 

Evening  was  falling.  We  had  not  gone  more  thap 
three  hundred  yards  after  leaving  the  wood,  when 
we  halted.  We  were  warned  to  make  the  best  of  the 
position.  A  certain  sector  was  allotted  to  us,  and  we 
were  told  that  we  must  hold  it  all  the  next  day.  Hold 
it  only?  Guillaumin  looked  at  me  and  pulled  a  face. 
What  we  wanted  to  do  was  to  get  on.  The  Big  Push 
was  what  we  were  out  for.  He  urged  me  to  question 
the  captain  on  the  situation,  as  I  was  on  such  good 
terms  with  him.  I  refused.  A  little  occurrence  which 
had  taken  place  that  morning  was  still  rankling  in 
my  mind.  I  had  thought  I  might  be  permitted  to  ask 
our  company  commander  whether  the  enemy  was  far 
off.  Ribet  had  heard  me  all  right,  but  had  not  deigned 
to  answer.  He  had  looked  through  me  as  if  I  did 
not  exist,  and  then  called  his  orderly.  That  meant — 
what  ?  Simply  that  the  captain  intended  to  be  famil- 
iar only  when  it  suited  him.  I  had  been  annoyed 


We  Take  up  Our  Position         445 

and  offended.  I  should  let  him  make  the  advances, 
next  time ! 

The  lieutenant  seemed  embarrassed  by  the  task 
entrusted  to  him.  As  we  were  occupying  the  edge  of  a 
wood  the  temptation  was  great  to  make  use  of  the 
resources  at  hand — the  trees  for  instance.  Henriot 
bustled  about  and  had  the  saws  got  out;  then  asked 
me  whether  there  was  not  some  way  of  getting  hold  of 
some  petard  of  melinite  to  put  round  the  big  trunks. 
He  spoke  too  loudly.  The  poilus  snorted  when  they 
heard  him.  Nobody  felt  inclined  to  undertake  such 
a  piece  of  work  which  would  have  lasted  all  night. 
And  then,  we  were  so  certain  to  leave  it  all  behind 
when  we  charged  to-morrow. 

Some  time  was  lost  in  bandying  words.  We  had 
been  there  for  half  an  hour  when  the  captain  came  up. 

"Not  begun  yet?" 

Henriot  began  to  unfold  his  plan.  Ribet  cut  him 
short,  after  the  first  words. 

"You're  quite  off  the  mark!  The  edge  of  a  wood! 
Do  you  imagine  we're  going  to  settle  down  at  the  edge 
of  a  wood — a  line  which  is  sure  to  be  especially  marked? 
You  wouldn't  have  a  man  left.  Take  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  in  front  there.  Exactly !  And  now 
dig  me  some  good  trenches!" 

"Deep  ones,  sir?" 

"That's  your  lookout.  You  must  arrange  that. 
Let  your  men  do  the  best  they  can — and  remember 
that  you  may  be  attacked  any  minute. " 

He  went  on.  His  tall  silhouette  disappeared  behind 
the  bushes. 

Covered  by  a  new  patrol  party,  we  chose  a  piece  of 
ground  of  the  length  indicated.  Night  had  come. 
The  stars  shone  out  one  by  one.  The  cannonade  was 


446  Ordeal  by  Fire 

diminishing  in  intensity.  The  long  beams  of  the 
searchlight  were  probing  the  dark  sky  in  all  directions. 

And  now  to  our  task.  Guillaumin  and  I  wielded 
spades  ourselves,  but  the  work  did  not  get  on  fast, 
in  spite  of  our  efforts  to  hasten  it.  The  men  were 
lazy.  They  had  made  so  many  of  these  trenches  in  the 
Meuse  and  in  Argonne  which  were  never  used  at  all. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  we  had  a  ditch  only  a  yard 
wide  at  the  most,  and  not  deep,  allowing  just  enough 
room  to  fire  kneeling  down.  We  had  to  be  content 
with  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE  FIRST  IMPACT 

WHAT  made  me  a  little  anxious  was  the  need  for 
sleep  manifest  in  nearly  everyone.  Sentries  were  to 
relieve  each  other  in  definite  order — but  what  guaran- 
tee was  there?  In  another  hour  all  these  men,  who 
were  yawning  now,  would  be  snoring! 

I  myself  was  dying  to  go  to  sleep.  In  view  of  the 
gravity  of  the  situation  I  encouraged  myself  in  the 
idea  of  going  the  rounds  every  hour.  But  the  lieuten- 
ant came  to  find  us  and  told  us  of  his  intention  of 
mounting  guard  himself.  He  asked  us,  in  a  friendly 
way,  to  do  the  same  on  our  side.  We  three  between 
us  would  ensure  the  safety  of  the  sector. 

We  must  needs  bow  to  necessity.  I  was  tempted 
to  admire  Henriot;  he  showed  the  vigilance  of  a  real 
leader.  Then  I  smiled.  It  was  no  doubt  the  effect 
of  the  minute  received  that  morning  concerning 
responsibilities. 

What  an  interminable  vigil  that  was.  The  men 
slept  like  logs,  including,  to  begin  with  at  all  events, 
several  of  the  sentries.  I  can  answer  for  it  that  I 
shook  them  in  a  way  that  made  them  sit  up. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  picket  I  had  chosen,  I  had 
all  I  could  do  to  keep  awake  myself.  A  helmet  of 
lead  seemed  to  encircle  my  temples.  I  had  a  head- 
ache and  felt  overpoweringly  drowsy.  I  dozed  off 

447 


448  Ordeal  by  Fire 

about  midnight,  but  not  for  long,  luckily !  The  respite 
did  me  good. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by.  It  was  a  clear  night, 
though  the  moon  made  only  a  late  appearance.  The 
landscape  was  lacking  in  any  conspicuous  features. 
There  was  nothing  that  caught  one's  eye  right  away 
to  the  horizon,  which  might  be  near  or  far. 

It  would  not  be  long  before  daybreak.  We  were 
freezing  where  we  stood.  B-r-r!  B-r-r-r!  I  shook 
myself  and  rubbed  my  shirt  against  my  skin  to  warm 
myself.  My  attention  had  wandered. 

Guillaumin  suddenly  appeared.  I  had  not  seen 
him  coming. 

He  said  to  me : 

"Not  noticed  anything?" 

"No.     Have  you?" 

"  Yes,  for  the  last  few  minutes.  .  .  .  I  think  there's 
something  doing." 

We  strained  our  ears  for  a  few  thrilling  seconds. 
Dead  silence.  Guillaumin  admitted  that  he  must 
have  been  mistaken,  and  apologised.  But  at  this 
point  Bouillon  came  crawling  along  in  a  hurry. 

" Here  come  the  Bosches.     Look!     Look!" 

Yes.  There  was  a  moving  line  yonder,  cutting 
across  the  pale  grey  of  the  stubble. 

What  orders  would  the  lieutenant  give?  We  went 
to  look  for  him,  quickly  rousing  the  poilus  on  our  way. 
They  got  up,  rubbing  their  eyes,  and  noiselessly 
seized  their  rifles  at  the  order  to  stand  to  arms. 

We  met  Bouguet  on  the  way,  equally  on  the  alert. 
The  whole  platoon  was  breathless  with  excitement. 
We  passed  word  along  the  line  to  our  neighbours. 

And  what  of  Henriot?  We  ended  by  discovering 
the  poor  wretch,  who  had  probably  held  out  all  night 


The  First  Impact  449 

against  his  weariness,  overcome  by  it  at  last,  and  snor- 
ing away  with  his  head  on  his  arm. 

Guillaumin  shook  with  laughter. 

"A  lot  of  good  all  his  trouble  had  been!" 

He  wanted  to  startle  him  by  clapping  him  on  the 
back.  I  objected.  What  was  the  good  of  humiliating 
him?  I  arranged  to  catch  him  with  my  elbow  as  I 
brushed  past,  and  deferentially  inquired  as  he  moved: 

"  Is  that  what  you  would  advise,  sir  ? " 

"What!     What!"  he  said,  opening  his  eyes. 

"To  send  word  to  the  captain." 

He  raised  himself  up  to  listen  to  us,  and  approved 
our  suggestions. 

It  was  like  a  moving  film!  .  .  .  That  dark  silent 
line,  that  line  of  assailants  at  which  we  turned  to  look 
continually,  which  we  imagined  was  still  a  long  way 
off.  The  speed  was  suddenly  quickened.  There 
was  a  sound  of  galloping — which  seemed  quite  near. 
I  strained  my  eyes,  my  lips  opened  with  a  jerk.  I 
took  a  step  forward.  .  .  . 

Henriot  blew  his  whistle. 

I  can  still  hear  the  rip  of  that  imperious  salvo. 
A  volley  of  shrieks  answered  it  from  the  plain,  and 
dispelled  my  shudders. 

And  the  salvo  grew  more  violent  and  rolled  along 
the  whole  line  of  trenches.  We  saw  nothing  further: 
simply  went  on  firing,  sweeping  the  ground  in  front 
of  us.  I  shouldered  my  rifle  and  discharged  it  dis- 
tractedly, just  as  mad  as  the  others.  The  crash 
and  uproar  rose  and  swelled  and  threatened. 

It  did  not  last  more  than  a  minute.     The  attack  was 

badly  carried  out,  or,  at  all  events,  sustained.     It 

was  an  entire  failure.     Our  firing  persisted.     Cries 

could  still  be  heard,  but  of  pain  now,  and  also  the 

39 


450  Ordeal  by  Fire 

interjections  of  officers  rallying  their  men.  There 
were  smothered  moans  and  death-rattles.  Our  firing 
still  continued.  When  it  ceased  nothing  was  moving 
on  the  plain  and  only  an  occasional  guttural  groan 
could  be  heard.  When  the  dawn  came  we  saw  the 
stubble-fields  strewn  with  bodies,  some  of  them  less 
than  thirty  yards  away.  They  had  fallen  face  fore- 
most. The  rest  had  been  hit  in  flight.  It  was 
impossible  to  go  and  pick  up  even  the  dying.  They 
must  stay  there  all  day,  ghastly  witnesses  of  the 
encounter. 

It  was  broad  daylight  now. 

Where  had  the  enemy  taken  refuge?  Probably 
behind  one  of  those  distant  copses,  unless  they  oc- 
cupied trenches  somewhere  in  this  undulating  plain 
which  sloped  gently  away . 

The  German  artillery  was  obviously  anxious  that 
we  should  not  forget  its  presence.  The  avalanche  of 
shells  started  again  with  terrific  fury.  Nothing  but 
big  "coal-boxes."  Luckily  all  or  nearly  all  of  them 
roared  over  our  heads  to  explode  in  the  woods.  Sup- 
pose we  had  stayed  there ! 

The  captain  appeared  towards  seven  o'clock  and 
told  us  that  we  should  be  there  for  some  time. 

One  pleasant  surprise  was  the  coffee,  which  was 
brought  up  from  the  rear  by  Fachard  and  Pomot, 
two  cheery  fellows  who  were  seen  coming  along  in 
the  distance,  smiling  and  fearless,  gaily  swinging  their 
dixey.  They  had  had  to  cross  the  zone  of  fire  to  get  to 
us.  When  questioned,  they  admitted  that  they 
had  had  no  orders.  It  was  simply  an  idea  of  theirs 
to  warm  the  lads  up  a  bit.  And  they  meant  to  go 
back.  Fachard  was  no  less  a  personage  than  the 


The  First  Impact  451 

colonel's  cook.  His  duty  called  him.  Oh  no,  that 
couldn't  be  allowed.  Lamalou  forbade  them  to  move. 
The  colonel  and  his  stew  would  have  to  look  after 
themselves.  They  weren't  going  to  let  lads  like  that 
get  themselves  pinked,  not  much. 

The  captain,  who  turned  up  again,  began  by  giving 
the  two  cronies  a  good  slanging.  A  piece  of  nonsense 
that  might  have  drawn  the  fire  on  to  us.  Then  he 
calmed  down  and  asked  if  he  might  taste  their  famous 
coffee,  and  congratulated  them  on  it. 

Pomot  took  a  fancy  to  our  platoon  and  stayed  with 
us.  I  talked  to  him,  but  did  not  get  much  out  of  him 
at  first.  The  thing  that  had  struck  him  most  was  a 
shell  which  had  just  killed  two  staff-officers.  Oh,  yes, 
and  then  he  had  heard  that  reinforcements  had 
arrived.  An  important  piece  of  news  that.  I  pressed 
him — then  he  told  me  a  fantastic  tale  which  had  got 
about  of  taxis  having  brought  up  Zouaves  and  Turcos 
and  Foreign  Legion  men,  all  night,  nothing  but  those 
frightful  creatures  from  Africa!  It  seemed  to  me 
an  unlikely  tale,  but  I  thought  it  worth  spreading 
all  the  same.  It  gave  the  men  a  tremendous  fillip. 

"Them  chaps  knows  the  business  end  of  a  bayonet 
all  right  w'en  they  sees  it!" 

Some  time  passed.  I  was  occupied  in  getting  our 
trench  made  deeper.  The  men  put  their  backs  into 
it  better  than  they  had  the  day  before.  But  the  cap- 
tain immediately  gave  orders  to  stop  the  work,  not 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  enemy's  lookout  men. 
Everyone  appeared  delighted.  They  only  bemoaned 
the  fact  that  they  were  forbidden  to  smoke. 

The  German  shells  fell  unceasingly,  with  clumsy, 
obstinate  precision,  a  few  hundred  yards  behind  us. 
Part  of  the  wood  was  on  fire  and  black  smoke  hung 


452  Ordeal  by  Fire 

above  it.  Sometimes  when  a  shell  fell  near  the  edge 
of  the  wood  leaves  and  branches  could  be  seen  spurting 
up,  as  at  the  kick  of  some  huge  monster. 

It  certainly  was  a  rest  for  us.  The  crash  of  bursting 
shells  no  longer  startled  us.  We  had  even  given  up 
ducking  when  the  projectiles  swished  over  our  heads. 
The  men  were  sitting  or  lying  about  in  drowsy  atti- 
tudes. Many  of  them  were  taking  another  nap. 
Aided  by  a  natural  feeling  of  indolence  they  ended 
by  taking  it  for  granted  that  this  sort  of  fighting 
would  last. 

Another  hour  went  by.  I  vaguely  wished  I  could 
take  some  interest  in  the  struggle.  If  only  I  had  had  a 
periscope  or  some  field-glasses.  I  was  too  slack  to  go 
and  borrow  Henriot's.  For  a  moment  I  experienced 
a  kind  of  humiliation — was  this  all  that  would  be 
required  of  us?  Should  we  share  in  the  glory  of  this 
victory  without  having  earned  it? — No  one,  up  till 
then,  doubted  that  it  would  be  a  victory — and  leave 
the  honour  of  the  decisive  attacks  to  those  African 
devils?  And  then  I  must  admit  that  this  thought 
suddenly  pleased  me.  I  should  get  off  easily  and  my 
friends  too.  Everything  seemed  to  be  turning  out  for 
the  best.  And  De  Valpic?  Oh,  he  would  recover. 

Then,  lulled  by  the  deafening  tumult  of  the  cannon- 
ade, with  my  eyes  half  closed,  I  indulged  in  visions  of 
a  tender  face.  I  wandered,  enchanted,  in  the  golden 
mists  of  the  future.  , 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HOLDING   OUT 

I  WAS  aroused  from  these  day-dreams  by  a  hulla- 
baloo. The  men  were  on  their  feet  shouting:  "Here 
they  come!  Here  they  come !" 

I  tried  to  impose  silence  on  them:  so  much  waste 
breath.  And  I  was  infuriated  by  hearing  shots  be- 
ing fired  without  any  orders  having  been  given. 

I  leaned  on  the  parapet,  but  could  see  nothing.  I 
shouted:  "What  in  thunder  are  you  shooting  at?" 

At  that  .moment  the  well-known  screeches  lashed 
the  air.  I  flung  myself  down.  German  bullets! 

Bouillon  said,  below  his  breath:  "The  blighters! 
Their  trenches  weren't  far  off. " 

When  their  volley  was  over  we  looked  for  them. 
They  must  have  lain  down.  I  consulted  Lamalou: 
"A  thousand  yards,  do  you  think?" 

"Eight  hundred,  not  more." 

I  gave  the  men  orders  to  correct  their  sight.  They 
had  all  been  firing  at  four  hundred  in  their  surprise. 

A  rumour  spread  that  they  were  coming. 

"Fire!    Fire!" 

This  time  we  could  see  them.  Quite  a  change! 
Nearly  everywhere,  at  Tailly,  Halles,  and  Beauclair 
we  had  had  to  fire  at  random.  How  often  I  had  cursed 
their  invisible  uniforms!  Here,  again,  this  grey  line 
melted  into  the  ground  tint. 

453 


454  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Never  mind.  Our  men  fired  rapidly  and  coolly. 
The  others  threw  themselves  down  again  and  their 
projectiles  forced  us  to  crouch  down  in  our 
turn. 

"There  are  an  awful  lot  of  them,  the  dirty  dogs!" 
Henriot  said  to  me. 

"As  many  as  all  that?" 

"Yes.  I've  been  using  my  field-glasses.  And 
they  advance  shoulder  to  shoulder,  looking  as  if 
they  meant  to  swamp  everything." 

"Oh,  well,  we're  here ! "  I  said.  But  I  glanced  at  our 
sparsely  covered  line.  Had  we  reserves  anywhere! 
It  was  to  be  hoped  so,  but  until  further  orders,  we  had 
only  ourselves  to  count  on. 

The  enemy  was  ga;ning  ground.  However,  dis- 
cipline had  soon  been  established  among  us.  Each 
time  the  hostile  mass  moved,  we  "loosed  off  a  belt." 
Everyone  was  cool  and  collected,  no  more  panic  like 
there  had  been  at  Mangiennes.  Each  poilu  was 
determined  to  get  the  most  out  of  the  good  Lebel  in 
his  hands. 

I  went  up  and  down,  warning  them  not  to  waste 
ammunition.  I  watched  Corporal  Donnadieu  for 
a  few  minutes.  How  would  he  manage  with  his 
mutilated  hand?  Well,  he  used  nothing  but  his  left 
hand  to  rest  his  rifle  on.  It  grazed  one  of  the  stumps 
and  forced  him  to  stifle  an  exclamation  of  pain.  He 
did  not  lose  a  single  second  in  firing  and  recharging 
in  spite  of  his  puckered  forehead  and  clenched  teeth. 

"Good  for  you,  old  chap,  ""  I  said. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  his  eyelashes  fluttered. 

Our  trench  lacked  depth,  the  firing-steps  were 
missing — a  grave  cause  of  fatigue.  I  reproached  my- 
self bitterly  for  our  slackness  the  day  before.  If  only 


Holding  Out  455 

we  had  taken  the  trouble  to  dig  a  little  bit  deeper, 
to  fetch  wood,  and  arrange  loopholes. 

The  Bosches  manoeuvred  skilfully.  Some  of 
them  crouched  down  and  facilitated  their  comrades' 
advance  by  firing.  Then  they  took  their  turn  at 
advancing  while  the  others  protected  them. 

There  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to  fire.  Fire 
without  ceasing  for  an  instant,  even  under  a  hail  of 
bullets.  The  men  had  realised  this  sanguinary 
obligation.  There  was  no  need  for  leadership.  It 
was  splendid  to  see  them,  taking  aim  without  hurrying 
themselves  over  it,  under  the  deadly  torrent.  The 
casualties  began  immediately.  Trichet  was  the  first 
to  fall  with  a  hole  through  his  neck.  A  machine-gun 
of  theirs  had  just  begun  to  talk,  and  things  were  look- 
ing black  in  other  ways.  The  shells  which,  for  a  long 
time,  had  been  negligible,  now  began  to  find  the  range 
in  the  most  alarming  manner.  The  ground  shook. 
Three  men  in  No.  2  platoon  had  their  heads  taken 
off  at  a  blow. 

The  enemy  was  drawing  nearer,  and  was  not  more 
than  about  four  hundred  yards  away  now.  I  confess 
I  was  extremely  miserable.  Another  quarter  of  an 
hour  and  they  would  be  within  charging  distance.  We 
should  have  to  meet  this  human  avalanche  and  we 
should  not  be  one  to  their  five. 

I  almost  formed  the  cowardly  wish  that  we  might 
retire  without  waiting  any  longer.  How  agonising  it 
was.  We  should  certainly  never  be  strong  enough 
to  withstand  them.  A  wave  of  irritation  rose  in  me 
against  our  artillery  which  was  incapable  of  interven- 
ing at  the  right  moment,  having  been  completely 
annihilated  by  the  heavy  German  batteries,  and  also 
against  the  superior  military  authorities  who  gave  us 


456  Ordeal  by  Fire 

no  support.  And  I  was  paralysed  by  a  sudden  fear. 
We  were  using  a  lot  of  cartridges.  Suppose  our  sup- 
plies were  to  give  out!  Playoust  would  be  sure 
to  be  stopping  ever  so  far  behind  with  his  waggons. 
What  a  ridiculous  idea  it  had  been  to  entrust  him  with 
that  work. 

The  sight  that  gave  me  new  strength  just  as  I  was 
feeling  inclined  to  give  way,  and  on  the  point  of  being 
false  to  all  that  I  was  and  wished  to  be,  was  the  atti- 
tude of  the  men.  I  can  see  them  now  taking  aim 
and  recharging,  with  their  manly,  straightforward, 
earnest  faces.  There  was  no  confusion.  They  made 
admirable  practise,  their  rifles  leaping  to  their  shoul- 
ders, or  falling  again  in  good  earnest.  What  moral 
strength  they  showed !  What  a  genius  for  resistance ! 
How  much  their  nerve  had  improved,  and  their  cour- 
age increased  during  the  last  four  weeks !  It  seemed 
to  me  that  their  virtue  was,  in  part,  my  work,  that  my 
attempts  at  patient,  serene  exhortation  were  bearing 
their  fruit.  How  grateful  I  was  to  them,  my  brothers. 
They  were  returning  my  lesson — not  to  argue,  but  to 
fight.  To  fulfil  one's  obscure  duty.  They  were  right. 
After  all  if  we  were  to  be  killed  at  this  spot  in  accord- 
ance with  a  higher  scheme;  if  success  were  only  to  be 
won  at  this  price! 

The  enemy  were  no  longer  making  any  progress. 
They  had  got  to  the  point  after  which  any  further 
advance  under  fire  is  merely  an  act  of  heroic  folly. 
Our  losses  were  not  very  great — only  two  killed  in 
the  platoon  and  four  or  five  wounded,  among  them 
Bouguet,  who,  with  a  shattered  arm,  had  distributed 
his  rounds  of  ammunition,  and  was  standing  up  boldly 
and  reporting  on  the  slightest  movements  of  our 
adversaries. 


Holding  Out  457 

The  Bosches  had  been  badly  cut  up.  We  felt  as  if 
we  were  at  a  short  practise  range.  After  having  fired 
at  the  mass  as  a  whole  for  a  long  time  we  were  now 
choosing  our  target.  I  remember  a  great  lout  who  was 
running  with  large  strides  ahead  of  his  companions. 
He  got  exactly  into  my  line  of  fire.  It  was  his  destiny. 
I  took  aim,  but  he  threw  himself  down  in  the  stubble. 
I  was  patient  enough  to  keep  my  rifle  pointed  at  the 
spot  where  he  had  disappeared — it  was  a  risky  thing  to 
do  as  the  bullets  were  whistling  round  me.  I  waited 
anxiously  for  him  to  get  up.  He  delayed  and  delayed. 
At  last  he  moved.  Then  I  pressed  the  trigger.  Tac! 
My  shot  carried  and  he  fell. 

I  shut  my  eyes,  feeling  strangely  giddy.  Yes. 
After  five  weeks'  fighting,  he  was  the  first  victim 
definitely  attributable  to  me.  Heavens!  My  inborn 
gentleness  and  that  of  my  education  were  to  end  in 
this — in  taking  life!  I  had  killed  a  man.  A  man 
with  a  mother  r,nd  a  wife.  That  handsome  fellow. 
I  thought  of  my  friends  in  Thuringia,  of  Otto 
Kraemer,  sturdy  and  gentle. 

"Wake  up!  What  in  the  world  are  you  thinking 
of?"  said  Bouillon,  who  was  standing  beside  me. 

I  shook  myself  and  took  my  sight  again.  It  was 
all  part  of  the  war.  He  was  one  of  those  who  had 
massacred  my  brother.  It  was  a  case  of  killing  or 
being  killed — him  or  me ! 

For  a  long  time  we  prevented  them  from  moving. 
We  saw  the  horde  get  up  in  a  flock  and  dash  forward 
twenty  times  or  more.  At  the  same  instant  we  met 
them  with  our  fire,  coldly  precise.  Their  leaders,  who 
were  urging  them  on,  were  recognisable,  not  so  much 
by  their  uniform  as  by  their  movements.  Many  of 
them  were  hit  and  the  ardour  of  the  troops  diminished. 


458  Ordeal  by  Fire 

They  were  well-drilled  infantry,  but  they  lacked 
keenness. 

We  lost  all  interest  in  everything  but  this  narrow 
strip  of  ground  swept  by  our  fire.  I  put  down  my 
rifle  which  had  burnt  my  fingers.  The  mechanism 
had  got  jammed  in  several  places  and  I  mended  it  as  if 
in  a  dream. 

We  did  not  fire  incessantly.  There  were  moments 
of  inaction  when  I  tried  to  analyse  my  feelings  in 
accordance  with  my  old  intellectualism.  I  came  to 
grief  over  it.  My  ideas  got  blocked,  and  I  gripped 
the  trail  of  my  Lebel,  my  one  object  in  existence. 
One  thought  alone  subsisted  in  the  void  of  my  brain, 
and  I  clung  to  it.  Those  men  must  not  be  allowed 
to  take  another  step  in  our  direction. 

All  notion  of  time  was  lost  again.  I  remember 
that  I  looked  for  the  sun  in  the  sky.  It  was  shining 
a  long  way  from  the  point  at  which  I  had  expected  to 
find  it.  My  wrist  watch  had  stopped,  the  glass  was 
broken. 

From  time  to  time  Guillaumin  came  to  look  me  up 
and  make  some  remark  such  as  "Hot  work,  what!" 

This  time  he  leant  towards  me  and  said  something 
which  I  could  not  quite  catch.  I  got  him  to  repeat  it. 

"What?" 

Ah.  Now  I  understood.  How  many  rounds  had 
my  men  got  left? 

"Mine  have  about  fifteen,"  he  said. 

"About  the  same  here,  too." 

We  looked  at  each  other.  I  murmured :  "And  what 
about  the  replenishment. " 

"Ssh!" 

He  put  his  finger  to  his  lips.     As  if  the  men  had  not 


Holding  Out  459 

noticed  the  imminent  penury!  Several  of  them  had 
applied  to  Lamalou  for  some  of  his  share. 

Luckily  the  enemy's  fire  was  weakening  equally. 
Both  sides  were  drawing  breath.  The  Germans' 
heavy  artillery  never  paused  for  an  instant.  The 
explosions  of  enormous  "Jack  Johnsons"  barked  all 
round  us.  One  of  them,  which  fell  less  than  twenty 
yards  away,  dug  a  hole  of  ten  feet  and  filled  part  of 
our  trench  with  the  earth  it  displaced. 

Guillaumin  and  I  threw  despairing  glances  towards 
the  rear.  The  look  of  the  wood  had  changed  com- 
pletely since  morning.  A  wood?  There  was  not  a 
tree  standing! 

Guillaumin  grumbled:  "If  I  could  get  hold  of 
Play  oust!" 

I  quite  agreed. 


CHAPTER  XX 

WE   ARE  NOT  DEFEATED 

How  stiff  I  was.  I  stretched.  Every  joint  was 
aching.  I  started  off,  meaning  to  go  all  along  the 
bit  of  line  held  by  the  platoon. 

The  trench  was  so  narrow  that  the  men  had  to  glue 
themselves  against  the  parapet  in  order  to  let  me  pass. 
I  forced  myself  to  give  a  friendly  word  of  encourage- 
ment to  each  man.  I  suddenly  bumped  into  a  body. 
Gaudereaux !  The  poor  fellow's  skull  had  been  crushed 
like  a  nut. 

There  were  wounded  men  here  and  there.  Bouguet, 
who  had  had  to  give  in  and  sit  down,  his  face  drawn 
with  pain;  and  Icard,  with  folded  arms,  as  plucky 
as  ever,  though  his  shoulder  had  been  ripped  up  by 
a  splinter  of  shrapnel. 

For  whom  was  I  looking?  I  did  not  realise  it  until 
De  Valpic  hove  in  sight.  There  he  was,  safe  and 
sound.  What  a  relief !  His  cap  was  pushed  back  on 
his  forehead,  his  cheek-bones  were  purple,  and  he  had 
a  scratch  on  his  temple  which  was  bleeding. 

He  had  caught  sight  of  me,  and  was  coming  up 
when  I  saw  Chailleux,  our  connecting  file,  appear 
behind  him.  He  shouted: 

"Where's  the  lieutenant?" 

"Any  orders?" 

"Yes,  we're  to  fall  back. " 
460 


We  Are  Not  Defeated  461 

"What?" 

"In  artillery  formation." 

I  was  disgusted. 

"How  absolutely  idiotic." 

De  Valpic  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse  voice: 

"We're  outflanked  on  the  right." 

The  edge  of  the  wood  sloped  away  on  that  side. 

A  sudden  squall  hurled  us  all  to  the  ground.  We 
were  blinded  by  soil.  De  Valpic  was  half  buried. 
Two  yards  from  us  a  man,  who  was  leaning  against 
the  parapet,  reeled,  but  remained  standing  on  his  feet. 
Horrors!  His  head  was  severed  as  if  by  the  blow  of 
an  axe,  just  above  the  contorted  mouth.  De  Valpic 
who  had  freed  himself,  and  was  none  the  worse,  except 
for  feeling  somewhat  dazed,  could  not  bear  the  sight 
of  it.  He  tottered,  and  his  eyes  were  dimmed.  I  went 
to  his  help,  but  he  recovered  himself  immediately. 

"Carry  on,  carry  on,"  he  murmured.  "You're 
needed  over  there. " 

I  went  back  and  found  Henriot  feverishly  repeating : 

"Now,  don't  let's  lose  our  heads." 

"  It's  a  good  job  we're  going  to  hook  it, "  Guillaumin 
said  to  me.  "We're  about  done." 

It  was  quite  true.  There  were  nothing  but  bewil- 
dered, dazed-looking  men  all  round,  with  strained  and 
haggard  faces  and  trembling  hands.  They  would  not 
have  counted  for  much  against  a  resolute  onslaught. 
The  enemy,  cautious  and  practical,  seemed  as  busy 
as  possible  digging  new  trenches  two  hundred  yards 
away  from  us. 

I  looked  blankly  at  Guillaumin: 

"What  do  you  think?     Are  we  done  for?" 

He  began  to  chaff  me. 

"Could  we  ever  be  done  for?" 


462  Ordeal  by  Fire 

The  quartermaster-sergeant  came  round,  with 
two  of  the  men.  All  three  were  smilingly  handing 
round  their  caps,  collecting: 

"Please  help  the  poor." 

What  did  they  want?  Ammunition?  Yes,  a  few 
extra  rounds  for  the  platoon  which  was  to  stay  and 
cover  the  retreat. 

I  started.  So  some  men  were  to  be  sacrificed.  I 
put  on  a  detached  tone: 

"Which  platoon  has  been  warned  for  the  job?" 

"They  drew  lots,"  he  said.  "It's  to  be  Dela- 
fosse's. " 

No.  I.  I  hurried  along  to  them,  feeling  that  I 
could  not  go  without  shaking  Humel  by  the  hand. 
He  was  touched  by  it. 

"It  means  hell  for  us,"  he  said.  "But  mind  you 
fellows  get  off  all  right. " 

The  men  accepted  their  lot  without  keenness  or 
bitterness.  Descroix  was  standing  a  few  yards  away. 
I  took  a  step  towards  him. 

"Good  luck,  Descroix." 

"Like  to  change  places?"  he  snapped  in  a  fury. 

I  felt  certain  that  he  was  going  to  be  killed,  and  I 
was  sorry  that  his  last  hour  should  not  see  his  mind 
ennobled. 

I  dreaded  this  withdrawal.  It  always  means  more 
casualties  than  anything  else. 

At  a  pre-arranged  signal,  we  all  leapt  out  of  the 
trench  together,  and  bolted  at  the  double,  bending 
down  as  low  as  possible.  Bullets  whistled  past  our 
ears,  but  No.  I  platoon  retorted  vigorously,  and  the 
enemy,  as  I  have  already  said,  seemed  equally  short 
of  ammunition. 


We  Are  Not  Defeated  463 

By  a  lucky  coincidence,  the  fury  of  the  artil- 
lery had  diminished.  We  reached  the  wood  without 
losses. 

Arrived  there,  the  difficulty  was  to  slip  through 
this  inextricable  tangle  of  leafy  branches  and  jagged 
tree-trunks.  Everything  was  splintered  and  hacked, 
and  struck  one  as  being  the  work  of  drunken  wood- 
cutters. 

We  had  to  climb  and  hoist  ourselves  up  and  slither 
down  the  other  side,  and  cut  our  way  through.  Our 
accoutrements  caught  into  everything,  and  the  rifles 
impeded  our  progress.  I  bruised  my  leg  badly  against 
a  treacherous  stake.  We  nearly  lost  our  way,  having 
had  to  make  a  large  circuit  in  order  to  avoid  a  lot 
of  big  trees  which  were  still  smouldering.  An  acrid 
smoke  followed  us,  with  which  there  was  mingled  a 
vaguely  putrid  stench.  Under  the  piles  of  foliage, 
hundreds  of  dead  bodies  were  lying,  which  had  been 
in  a  state  of  decomposition  for  four  days. 

My  great  object  was  to  avoid  getting  separated 
from  my  men.  I  shouted  to  them  continually,  and 
they  followed  as  best  they  could.  Some  of  the 
wounded,  Bouguet  among  them,  dragged  themselves 
along  heroically. 

Suddenly,  as  I  was  balancing  myself  on  a  huge 
fallen  oak,  there  was  a  spurt  of  flame,  and  a  deafening 
report.  I  was  flung  into  the  underwood.  I  got  up  at 
once,  and,  directly  the  smoke  began  to  clear  away, 
looked  round  for  the  lieutenant.  I  had  a  terrible 
feeling  that  he  was  pulverised. 

No,  I  soon  discovered  him,  stretched  under  some 
bracken.  He  was  motionless.  I  bent  over  him  and 
saw  that  his  eyes  were  open  and  full  of  tears. 

"Hit?"  I  said. 


464  Ordeal  by  Fire 

He  stammered:  "Yes.  The  th-thigh.  I'm — done 
for." 

I  looked.  There  was  a  large  tear  in  his  trouser,  and 
underneath  I  caught  a  glimpse  of — such  a  mess ! 

I  made  a  movement  as  if  to  look  for  his  field  dressing. 
Pink  froth  appeared  on  his  lips : 

"Not — w-worth  it,"  he  stuttered. 

J'Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

I  should  have  liked  to  pick  him  up  in  my  arms  and 
carry  him  away,  poor  Henriot. 

He  made  an  attempt  to  unbutton  his  tunic.  I 
helped  him.  He  nodded  approval.  I  think  he 
wanted  to  get  hold  of  some  photograph  or  letter — the 
tradition  of  the  dying  soldier,  whose  eternal  nobility 
moved  me. 

His  strength  forsook  him. 

Of  my  own  accord,  I  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  took 
his  letter-case  and  held  it  out  to  him.  He  half -opened 
his  eyes  again,  and  raised  himself.  His  lips  moved. 
His  eyelashes  fluttered.  He  took  a  breath  and  fell 
back.  I  did  not  know  whether  he  was  dead,  or  had 
only  fainted. 

Another  shell  burst  just  by.  Something  struck 
my  cheek.  I  put  my  hand  up.  There  was  blood  on 
it.  But  it  was  only  a  fir-cone  which  had  been  flung 
down. 

I  turned  towards  Henriot  again.  Our  men  were 
scattered  in  the  distance.  It  was  impossible  to  call 
any  one  back,  and  equally  impossible  to  carry  him 
without  help.  He  and  I  were  alone,  face  to  face. 
What  was  it  he  had  wished  to  confide  in  me?  This 
incomplete  scene  was  becoming  tragically  mysterious. 

"Good-bye,  good-bye,"  I  murmured,  perhaps  to  a 
dead  man. 


We  Are  Not  Defeated  465 

I  took  the  letter  case  with  me,  and  stumbling 
beneath  the  weight  of  my  pack,  plunged  into  the 
thicket  in  pursuit  of  my  companions. 

I  did  not  catch  them  up  until  I  got  to  the  other  side 
of  the  wood.  Guillaumin  was  looking  out  for  me' 

"What's  become  of  Henriot?" 

"  Gone  west,  I  think.     A  'Jack  Johnson. ' " 

"Poor  fellow!" 

And  then: 

"'You'll  take  command  of  the  platoon?" 

I  hesitated: 

"Why  not  you?" 

"You're  the  senior. " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  come  out  a  few  places 
above  him  at  the  end  of  our  time  at  the  "  Peloton." 

There  was  an  agitated  fusillade  behind  us,  increasing 
in  intensity — Delafosse's  platoon  at  work. 

I  shouldered  my  rifle,  and  went  to  report  the 
lieutenant's  death  to  the  captain.  He  said,  curtly: 

"You've  got  your  platoon  commander's  certificate. 
You're  senior  to  Guillaumin. " 

(How  on  earth  did  he  know?) 

He  continued :  "You  will  immediately  become  acting 
sub-lieutenant.  If  we  both  get  through  safely,  I'll 
see  that  you  get  your  commission." 

He  got  back  on  to  his  horse,  which  his  orderly 
brought  up,  and  leaning  across  the  animal's  neck,  said: 

"In  case  the  matter  interests  you,  we  are  retiring 
because  we  chose  to.  Our  line  has  not  been  forced. 
It's  the  enemy  who  can't  hold  out  any  longer.  Only 
there's  a  detachment  of  Landwehr  trying  to  turn  us 
southwards." 

I  thanked  him  with  a  beam. 
30 


466  Ordeal  by  Fire 

As  I  drew  near  to  the  platoon,  Guillaumin  raised 
his  voice: 

"Your  new  subaltern,  lads!" 

"Good  luck  to  him!"  Bouillon  exclaimed. 

There  was  a  subdued  murmur  of  satisfaction  and 
approval.  I  must  be  forgiven  for  having  noticed 
it.  It  was  one  of  the  great  moments  of  my  life. 

I  signed  to  them  to  be  silent.  Guillaumin  shook 
my  hand. 

"You  deserve  it,  Michel." 

I  only  answered  by  a  shake  of  the  head.  We 
started  off  again,  and  I  was  thankful  that  my  cap 
threw  my  face  into  shadow.  Nobody  guessed  that 
my  eyes  were  wet.  Oh,  how  extraordinarily  buoyant, 
how  strong  I  felt,  both  physically  and  morally! 

The  last  barrier  had  fallen  between  these  men's 
caste  and  mine.  No  more  domination  imposed  by 
chance  or  force.  I  was  the  leader  they  would  have 
chosen,  just  as  I  was  the  leader  imposed  upon  them. 

This  was  the  only  legitimate,  the  only  true  author- 
ity. 

We  were  again  traversing  the  same  boundless 
plain,  which  yesterday  had  seen  us  braving  the 
Teuton  artillery,  but  this  time  in  a  slightly  oblique 
line.  No  shells  escorted  us,  for  a  change !  How  good 
it  seemed. 

We  were  marching  at  a  smart  pace,  and  had  put  not 
far  off  ten  kilometres  behind  us.  The  poilus  were 
reviving.  Their  behaviour  delighted  me.  They 
marched  with  a  will  across  the  dry  stubble.  Judsi 
began  to  rag: 

"  If  only  I'd  'a  thought  o'  bringing  my  grub. " 

Bouguet  still  kept  up — a  miracle  of  energy.  He 
had  got  his  arm  in  a  sling.  He  was  only  sorry — no 


We  Are  Not  Defeated  467 

one  could  guess  it  however  long  £hey  tried — that 
he  was  not  allowed  to  sing. 

We  had  had  nothing  to  eat  for  forty-eight  hours, 
and  had  been  fighting  for  thirty  hours  almost 
uninterruptedly. 

Call  us  beaten  men  ?  Nonsense !  About- to-be  victors ! 

Only  one  thing  worried  me.  The  almost  empty 
cartridge-pouches. 

Just  then  we  unexpectedly  came  across  the  train 
of  company  waggons.  We  halted,  and  while  the 
replenishment  was  going  on,  our  men  slanged  the 
drivers  roundly.  Slackers  who  had  not  been  able, 
or  had  not  wanted,  to  find  us ! 

As  for  me,  I  looked  for  Playoust,  determined  that 
he  should  pay  for  some  of  his  delinquencies.  But  at 
the  sound  of  his  name  a  corporal  looked  up : 

"  A  sergeant  of  that  name  ? " 

"Exactly." 

"  Well,  he  didn't  last  long !" 

"What?" 

"He  was  killed  yesterday  morning,  just  as  we  left 
Nanteuil.  We  hardly  saw  him  as  a  matter  of  fact. 
A  shell  splinter. 

"  You  don't  mean  it!  "  I  said,  astounded.  ' 

The  corporal  went  on:  "Probably  a  pal  of  yours, 
was  he?" 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"He  looked  a  good  sort,  and  an  amusing  fellow,  I 
should  say,  wasn't  he?"  He  insisted. 

"One  of  the  best?" 

"Aripper!" 

A  posthumous  reconciliation ! 

The  halt  here  was  prolonged.     Coffee  was  made. 


468  Ordeal  by  Fire 

The  sun  set  in  fiery  splendour.  Our  arms  were  piled 
up  at  a  short  distance  from  a  cross-road.  The 
traffic  there  was  intense:  waggons,  lorries,  and  batter- 
ies. We  drew  each  other's  attention  to  four  armoured 
motor  machine-guns,  which  were  the  object  of  a 
great  deal  of  curiosity.  They  were  the  first  in  use,  I 
believe,  and  were  going  southwards. 

In  the  growing  gloom,  Guillaumin  pointed  out  De 
Valpic  to  me,  deep  in  conversation  with  an  officer 
in  the  Dragoons.  When  the  latter  had  hurried  on, 
our  friend  came  back  to  us. 

"I've  just  seen  my  cousin  De  Montjezieu.  It's 
ripping  the  way  one  comes  across  people!" 

"Any  news?" 

"Yes — interesting  too. " 

We  looked  up  anxiously. 

In  a  few  words  he  repeated  the  information  he  had 
just  received.  It  was  this.  We  were  engaged  in  what 
might  be  called  the  second  battle  of  the  Ourcq,  for 
there  had  been  another  fought  and  lost,  between  the 
4th  and  7th,  by  the  plucky  divisions  of  reservists 
from  the  Paris  garrison.  The  great  object  of  the 
Staff  had  been  to  collect  a  large  army  of  fresh  men  to 
place  in  the  hands  of  the  Commander-in-Chief,  the 
7th  Army  Corps  coming  from  Alsace,  the  4th — that 
was  ours — and  then  the  divisions  from  Africa  which 
had  just  disembarked  at  Marseilles.  (So  there  was 
some  truth  in  Pomot's  tales,  I  thought.)  With  all 
those  combined  we  should  pull  it  off.  We  had  been 
withstanding  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  on  our 
weakest  point  all  that  day.  Now  we  were  going  to 
take  the  offensive.  If  we  managed  to  pierce  their  line 
.  .  .  !  From  a  certain  thrill  in  his  voice  I  imagined 
that  that  was  not  all. 


We  Are  Not  Defeated  469 

"What?    What  more  do  you  know ?     Out  with  it!" 

De  Valpic  hesitated  for  a  moment:  "And  the  deci- 
sive attack,  the  Big  Push,  is  to  come  off  to-night, 
according  to  my  cousin!" 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 

Guillaumin  yawned.  "I  say,  they're  not  counting 
on  us,  I  hope!" 

"Why?"  I  said,  sharply. 

"We've  done  our  bit!" 

"That's  no  reason!" 

"I'm  sleepy." 

"Get  down  to  it,  old  chap.  We'll  wake  you  in  time 
for  the  fun." 

He  lay  down  in  the  ditch.  The  night  reigned. 
Searchlights  swept  the  heavens.  There  was  an 
occasional  star-shell,  and  firing  all  the  time.  A  fresh 
breeze  got  up. 

Some  time  slipped  by.  We  were  all,  or  nearly 
all,  dozing.  That  vague  fusillade  in  the  distance 
would  have  been  enough  to  upset  us.  But  suddenly 
without  a  whistle,  without  a  call,  everyone  was  on 
his  feet.  The  echo  of  a  bugle-call  was  borne  to  us 
on  the  wind,  coming  from  several  miles  away — impress- 
ive, rousing  notes.  The  solemn  sound  of  the  Charge. 
Each  man  seized  his  arms  ready  to  rush  forward. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  captain  came  by: 
"Our  turn  will  come,  lads.  Go  on  resting  for  the 
present — sleep,  if  possible!" 

He  certainly  had  us  well  in  hand.  Those  few  words 
from  him  were  enough.  The  men  lay  down  in  the 
grass  again,  wrapping  their  greatcoats  round  them, 
and  it  was.  not  long  before  they  were  sound  asleep. 
Stars  were  shining  in  the  calm  sky  above  us. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  CULMINATION 

"Up  you  get,  sir!"  \ 

"What,  what!" 

Guillaumin  was  in  front  of  me,  smiling  and  swinging 
a  lantern.  Half -joking,  he  repeated:  "I  think  we're 
in  for  it,  sir!" 

I  got  up.  Shadows  were  moving  round  us.  The 
sharp  air  stung.  The  night  was  clear  but  moonless. 
I  asked  what  time  it  was.  Three  o'clock. 

I  immediately  had  a  pleasant  surprise.  That  form 
on  the  road — "  Humel ! "  I  dashed  at  him.  "  Hulloa, 
my  boy !  So  you  got  through ! " 

"By  jove !    It  was  a  bit  of  luck, "  he  acknowledged. 

I  hungrily  clamoured  for  details. 

He  explained:  "You  see,  as  long  as  we  stayed  in  the 
trench,  things  went  all  right.  We  managed  to  hold 
the  Bosches.  They  weren't  particularly  keen  to  face 
the  bayonet.  But  at  night  we  had  no  more  ammuni- 
tion. The  men  got  unstrung  and  wanted  to  do  a  bunk. 
Delafosse  opposed  it — as  you  may  imagine.  Some 
of  them  began  to  slope  off.  The  lieutenant  made 
up  his  mind  to  it,  and  we  followed  them.  But  the 
Bosches  got  wind  of  it  and  opened  fire  at  us.  That's 
when  we  got  cut  tip — not  one  out  of  four  got  away." 

"The  lieutenant?" 

"Knocked  out,  disappeared." 
470 


The  Culmination  471 

Another  name  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue. 

Humel  understood,  and  lowered  his  voice!  "Des- 
croix?  He  stayed  behind,  too." 

I,,  in  my  turn,  told  him  of  Henriot's  death,  and- 
about  Playoust.  I  saw  his  forehead  wrinkle.  He  said 
nothing.  I  took  his  arm. 

"Well,  we're  here!" 

"Not  for  long,"  he  murmured,  downheartedly. 

"Yes!  Yes!  I  swear  that  you,  you,  you  under- 
stand, will  get  through!" 

What  did  I  know  of  it?  But  I  had  said  it  with 
such  assurance  that  I  felt  it  had  given  him  new  heart. 

There  was  a  short  whistle — the  captain  calling  up 
the  N.  C.  O's. 

"Well,  my  friends, "  he  said,  "we  have  been  compli- 
mented on  our  resistance  the  other  night,  and  up  till 
four  o'clock  yesterday  in  front  of  the  Montrolle  woods. 
Apparently  we  did  not  do  badly!"  He  waited  for  a 
minute.  "That  is  not  all.  We  are  asked,  or  I  should 
say  commanded,  to  intervene  again.  A  great  honour 
for  the  regiment!" 

We  were  all  hanging  on  his  lips. 

"Mind  you  remember  this  date, "  he  said,  "in  case 
we  come  back.  This  is  the  night,  the  Qth  to  the  loth, 
that  the  battle  is  to  be  won.  We  are  attacking  all 
along  the  line,  and  I  think  I  may  be  allowed  to  tell  you, 
in  confidence,  that  some  of  our  comrades  alongside 
have  just  entered  Silly-le-Long.  At  the  other  ex- 
tremity the  Zouaves  have  taken  Lizy-sur-Ourcq. 
The  enemy  is  apparently  still  in  possession  of  a  little 
hill  near  here.  What  we've  got  to  do  is  to  oust  them 
from  it."  His  voice  trembled.  He  must  have  been 
trying  to  find  a  last  word  of  encouragement.  Not 
succeeding,  he  added:  "We  start  in  five  minutes!" 


472  Ordeal  by  Fire 

A  remark  not  lacking  in  eloquence. 

I  joined  De  Valpic  in  the  darkness.  His  cough  had 
made  me  aware  of  his  presence. 

Guillaumin,  who  ran  against  us,  said,  in  a  joking 
tone : ' '  Well,  if  we  aren't  polished  off  this  time ! ' '  And 
then,  a  little  more  gravely:  "If  only  it's  of  some  use. " 

"Do  you  doubt  it?" 

"I?  What  do  you  think?  I  wouldn't  change 
places.  Those  who  have  missed  this " 

He  rummaged  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out  a  sou,  and 
threw  it  into  the  air !  "Heads  we  win ! " 

"And  if  it's  the  reverse?" 

"A  reverse  for  the  Bosches!" 

He  hunted  about  in  the  dark. 

"Can't  you  find  it?" 

"It  never  fell.  It  went  straight  up  into  the  sky! 
The  best  sign  of  all. " 

We  did  not  touch  upon  any  more  serious  topics. 
We  assembled,  and  started  off.  De  Valpic  left  us  to 
join  his  platoon. 

"Good-bye." 

We  shook  hands.     We  were  never  to  see  him  again. 

The  most  complete  human  friendship  had  drawn  us 
together  during  the  last  fortnight. 

We  marched  along  a  road  in  silence  for  half  an  hour. 
Then  we  extended  into  the  fields,  like  mute  armed 
phantoms,  the  noise  of  our  footsteps  absorbed  by  the 
ground. 

For  the  first  time  I  had  taken  my  place  at  the  head 
of  my  platoon.  My  eyes  searched  the  darkness. 
I  regulated  our  pace  by  the  captain's,  whose  tall 
silhouette  stood  out  against  the  blackness.  I  formed 
only  one  wish  which  was  this:  that  our  intervention 


The  Culmination  473 

might  have  a  decisive  quality.  A  wish  which  re- 
sembled a  prayer.  I  implored,  I  don't  know  what 
God,  to  grant  me  the  good  fortune  to  be  a  hero. 

The  ground  was  rising  in  a  gentle  slope.  We  were 
guided  towards  the  east  by  a  pale  transparency,  herald 
of  the  day.  In  that  direction  lay  the  enemy;  the 
enemy  whose  sentries  no  doubt  had  orders  to  fire 
upon  all  suspicious  objects.  The  first  bullets  would 
be  for  me.  I  did  not  think  of  them  or  fear  them. 
The  fifty  men  behind  me,  who  would  act  as  I  acted, 
were  a  miraculous  incentive. 

There  was  a  hollow  exclamation  close  by  on  our  left. 
A  sentry!  A  shot  rang  out,  followed  by  a  second. 
I  quickened  the  pace,  my  men  remaining  close  at 
my  heels. 

In  front  of  us,  at  a  distance  which  was  difficult  to 
estimate,  we  could  make  out  a  noise  and  what  seemed 
like  confusion.  On  the  left  an  already  heavy  fusillade 
was  crackling.  The  absurd  idea  crossed  my  mind  of 
giving  orders  for  a  volley.  But  the  captain  contented 
himself  with  raising  his  sword.  Advance ! 

Our  speed  increased.  Charging  pace,  fix  bayonets  I 
Some  of  the  men  were  inclined  to  pass  me.  I  restrained 
them  below  my  breath. 

There  was  a  sudden  volley  of  bullets,  meant  for  us, 
but  distinctly  too  high.  We  advanced  bent  double. 
There  was  a  new  rafale.  This  I  felt  was  bearing  to 
the  right,  where  De  Valpic's  platoon  was.  A  myste- 
rious shock  warned  me  that  at  that  second  my  friend — 
my  friend  had  succumbed.  .  .  .  Mown  down,  this 
fine  life.  But  this  destiny  held  no  terror  for  him. 
And  what  other  awaited  us ! 

The  balls  continued  to  mew  fiercely  in  our  ears  like 
terrible  cats.  It  felt  like  the  blows  of  wooden  ham- 


474  Ordeal  by  Fire 

mers  which  would  pound  and  crush  everything  to  dust 
— ("would  bash  our  heads  in";  the  popular  expression 
just  fitted  it). 

I  was  thinking  of  that  when  I  became  aware  of  a 
sort  of  fluctuation  behind  me.  Somebody  shouted: 
"Kneel!" 

It  was  amazing.  My  line  had  instantly  given  way, 
and  thrown  themselves  down.  There  was  an  immedi- 
ate clash  of  steel,  followed  by  feverish  firing.  A  bullet 
whistled  past  my  nose.  I  threw  myself  on  to  the 
ground  and  turned  round  and  cursed  Henry,  the 
clumsy  lout,  who  was  firing  and  firing. 

What  was  to  be  done.  The  captain  yonder  was 
bellowing  in  an  infuriated  voice:  "Advance! 
Advance!" 

I  got  up,  waving  my  rifle,  and  shouted:  "Come 
along,  No.  3  platoon.  Show  them  what  you're  made 
of!" 

A  few  of  them  got  up  and  followed  me.  The  major- 
.ity  hesitated.  There  was  no  time  to  wait.  We  took 
about  twenty  steps  at  the  double.  I  had  to  stop. 
There  were  only  six  poilus  with  me ! 

I  shouted  again.  I  yelled.  The  bullets  were  still 
cracking.  They  passed  us  coming  from  both  sides. 
I  recoiled.  The  confusion  was  terrible.  I  bumped 
into  Humel.  Guillaumin  turned  up  bringing  us  a 
handful  of  men.  I  remember  that  I  asked  him  coldly : 
"How  far  off  are  they?" 

"A  hundred  yards." 

"Good.     We've  got 'em!" 

Then  I  don't  quite  know  what  happened  after  that. 
It  hardly  lasted  a  minute.  It  seemed  like  a  hundred 
years !  I  believe  I  rushed  back  in  search  of  my  men, 
shouting: 


The  Culmination  475 

-  "  This  way !     Come  along !     Follow  me ! " 

I  flew.  I  furrowed  the  ground,  sowing  the  sacred 
fire  in  my  tracks. 

"Look,  they  can't  touch  us!" 

They  were  no  longer  firing  on  our  left.  Hand-to- 
hand  fighting  must  be  going  on — a  cacophony. 
Noises  which  had  nothing  human  left  about  them. 
No  doubt  the  enemy  was  giving  ground.  I  stumbled 
near  a  long  ditch,  a  first-line  trench,  which  they  had 
already  abandoned. 

I  felt  sure  that  I  was  going  to  be  killed,  but  oddly 
enough  I  cared  very  little.  To-day  or  to-morrow, 
what  did  it  matter!  A  thousand  thoughts  thronged 
each  other  in  my  mind.  The  dominant  one,  simple 
and  sublime,  was  that  Victory  was  leaning  towards  us. 
We  should  carry  this  hill,  for  I  could  see  our  men 
wriggling  along  the  ground  to  rejoin  us,  and  grouping 
themselves  again. 

The  light  and  serenity,  the  frenzy  of  it!  I  swear 
that  at  that  instant  France  was  really  something 
other  than  an  abstract  entity  for  me:  the  whole 
in  which  I  participated,  which  was  me  and  more  than 
me.  Of  my  own  free  will  I  was  sacrificing  my  paltry 
individuality.  I  was  melting  a  wan  unit  into  the 
collective  consciousness  of  the  beings  of  my  country. 

Surprise  may  be  caused  by  the  fact  that  I  found 
time  to  revolve  all  these  thoughts  in  my  mind  during 
these  brief  moments,  among  this  chaos,  where  I  might 
be  seen  dashing  about  madly,  expending  myself 
in  exhortations  and  reproaches. 

•  Well,  I  did  find  time  for  them,  and  for  a  thousand 
others!     I  myself,  lucid  and  multiplied,  marvelled  at 
it;...  v  :       :.:•:.  -..-.•        '    -  ;.-.  .......  • 

.::•  M-v  resources  were  increased  tenfold;  -I  burst  into 


476  Ordeal  by  Fire 

blossom.  I  attained  the  apogee  of  my  power.  The 
instant  in  which  I  raised  myself  to  the  conception  of 
the  immense  national  soul  was  also  that  in  which 
my  own  spirit  was  expanded  most  largely.  Nothing 
escaped  me.  I  was  twenty  beings.  I  had  a  tender 
thought  for  the  memory  of  my  mother;  one  for  my 
brother  who  had  fallen;  for  those  of  my  people  who 
remained.  And  you,  Jeannine,  my  betrothed,  I 
evoked  your  face  and  let  my  lips  caress  it  lightly. 
I  descried  all  that  life  we  should  have  lived  together, 
and  tasted  all  its  happiness  to  the  full.  I  adored  you, 
oh  my  well  beloved !  I  was  certain,  that  at  that  instant 
you  knew  that  I  was  being  killed  for  your  sake,  that 
you  were  proud  of  it,  and  sobbed  for  it. 

My  men  were  collected  there,  lying  with  their 
eyes  fixed  on  me,  already  half  raised,  ready  to  dart 
forward. 

As  I  looked  at  them  and  counted  them  over,  a 
fantastic  idea  struck  me.  Fifty  living  men.  In  a 
minute,  half  of  them  would  be  dead,  at  a  sign  from 
me. 

Gloomily  determined,  I  enjoyed  my  fatal  power. 
Did  I  spare  myself?  No.  I  remained  on  my  feet, 
and  the  bullets  made  a  nimbus  round  me.  Preserved 
by  a  constant  miracle,  I  moved  among  these  fiery 
trajectories  like  a  salamander. 

And  then,  ruminating  on  a  vague  hope  of  living,  I 
dreamt  that  a  fate  protected  me;  that  death  was 
overawed  by  my  temerity. 

The  hour  struck  in  the  depths  of  my  consciousness. 

I  included  all  my  men,  body  and  soul,  in  a  compre- 
hensive gesture  to  advance. 

Their  undulating  line  moved  as  one  man.  Bouillon 
was  just  behind  me.  In  getting  up  he  seemed  to 


The  Culmination  477 

stumble,  and  fell  like  a  stone,  with  a  bullet  in  his  fore- 
head. 

Then  I  began  to  run  quickly,  straight  ahead. 
There  was  no  longer  any  need  to  turn  round.  Behind 
me  I  could  hear  that  breathing,  and  the  heavy  trot 
regulated  by  mine.  We  formed  an  inseparable  block, 
they  and  I.  If  any  fell,  their  places  were  filled  up. 
Twenty  yards  away  I  saw  phantoms  scattering. 

"They 're  bolting!" 

My  own  voice  seemed  to  swell  in  the  deep-throated 
roars  which  it  tore  from  my  companions.  Living, 
rolling  thunder!  The  enemy  overcome  and  swept 
away!  Full  of  a  prodigious  reserve  of  breath,  life, 
and  pride  I  was  going  to — 

A-a-h! 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SERENITY 

I  HAD  fallen  face  downwards.  I  experienced  a 
sensation  of  shattering  and  laceration.  My  eyes 
closed.  I  made  a  convulsive  effort  to  get  up.  Impos- 
sible! But  where  was  I  wounded?  My  head  was 
swimming,  everything  was  turning  round  me.  I  was 
dying. 

"Your  leg,  isn't  it?" 

I  succeeded  in  opening  my  eyes  again. 

Guillaumin ! 

"Yes — I  think  so!"  I  stammered. 

"Hurts  a  bit,  what?" 

I  tried  to  lift  up  my  head  and  spit  some  soil  out. 
Everything  grew  dim  again.  I  caught  sight  of  a 
clown's  face — Judsi,  leaning  over  me,  too. 

1 '  Carry  on !     Carry  on ! "  I  murmured. 

They  disappeared  from  my  field  of  vision.  I  saw 
another  line  of  men  pass  in  skirmishing  order,  then 
another.  Was  my  brain  affected  ?  Why  did  I  think 
I  was  back  in  camp  at  Mailly  and  once  more  taking 
part  in  the  parade  before  the  Bey  of  Tunis? 

By  some  strange  instinct,  I  dreaded  being  helped. 
I  preferred  to  die  in  peace.  For  I  thought  my  hour 
had  come,  and  abandoned  myself  unregretfully. 

Meanwhile,  some  time  passed.  Instead  of  agonis- 
ing, I  recovered  my  w.":s. 

478 


Serenity  479 

It  was  my  right  leg  that  had  been  hit — the  bone  to  a 
certainty!  For  the  moment,  the  pain  was  not  so 
intolerable.  I  felt  as  if  my  leg  had  been  substituted 
by  a  mass  of  lead. 

Ah!     The  sun!    Already  high  in  the  heavens! 

I  now  began  to  wish  for  help,  but  the  plateau  was 
abandoned.  Quite  near  me  there  was  a  dead  body — 
poor  Prunelle — fallen  in  the  posture  of  an  oriental 
suppliant.  Farther  on  Gaufreteau  was  drawing  his 
last  breath. 

A  tree  stood  a  few  yards  off;  a  minute  rise  in  the 
ground  blocked  out  all  the  horizon. 

I  was  thinking,  longing  to  find  out  what  really  had 
happened.  I  struggled  obstinately  to  turn  over  onto 
one  side.  At  last  I  succeeded.  By  raising  myself 
up  on  my  elbow,  I  was  able  to  examine  my  leg.  It 
made  a  hideous  angle  under  the  trouser.  The  foot 
turned  back  towards  the  knee.  There  would  have 
been  reason  enough  to  shudder,  if  that  inert  mass  had 
not  literally  seemed  a  thing  quite  apart  from  me. 
.  I  thought  of  dressing  my  wound,  but  my  strength 
was  not  up  to  undoing  my  pack  and  slitting  up  the 
cloth  round  my  leg. 

What  was  the  result  of  the  engagement?  Every- 
thing tended  to  show  that  our  masterly  stroke  at  dawn 
had  been  successful.  But  were  we  following  up  our 
advantage?  And  how  far?  If  only  I  could  have 
dragged  myself  as  far  as  that  tree!  I  calculated  the 
distance.  What  hope  possessed  me?  I  succeeded 
at  the  cost  of  real  torture  in  getting  into  a  sitting 
position.  Now  my  plan  was  made.  I  must  move 
backwards,  propelling  myself  by  my  fists! 

Oh!  what  a  ghastly  journey  that  was!  I  watched 
the  removal  of  my  leg.  It  was  throbbing,  but  did  not 


480  Ordeal  by  Fire 

cause  me  acute  pain,  and  seemed  as  if  paralysed; 
mis-shapen  and  swollen,  like  a  great  ball,  pinning  me 
to  the  ground.  I  was  as  weak  as  a  baby.  Ten  times 
over  my  head  sank,  my  clenched  fingers  relaxed. 
I  allowed  myself  a  good  rest,  first  after  each  half  yard 
then  after  each  foot,  then  even  this  latter  distance 
seemed  to  me  excessive. 

Having  attained  my  end — how  I  do  not  know — I 
drew  breath  for  a  long  time. 

It  now  remained  for  me — I  was  ambitious — to  stand 
up — to  see  something.  I  gripped  the  trunk  with 
both  arms,  while  my  sound  leg  stiffened — in  vain — my 
God!  The  other  was  pinned  to  the  ground! 

I  changed  my  tactics,  and  set  about  raising  myself 
on  one  knee.  When  I  had  got  there,  I  exerted  all 
the  strength  of  my  being,  and  began  to  pull  myself  up 
slowly,  oh,  so  slowly!  My  grip  alone  supported  me. 
My  hands  were  grazed  by  the  bark. 

On  my  feet,  at  last — triumphant!  I  was  able  to 
gaze  far  across  the  plain  in  front  of  me. 

It  was  a  large  expanse  of  wild  country,  cut  by  a  rail- 
way. Little  did  I  care  for  the  view.  What  I  sought 
for  hungrily  was  that  cloud  of  dust — the  men.  I 
ended  by  discovering  it.  In  the  distance,  as  far  as 
eye  could  see,  there  was  a  line  of  skirmishers — easily 
recognisable — our  greatcoats  and  red  trousers ! 

Vloumm!  Rouvloumm!  Vloumm!  A  cannonade 
echoed  near  at  hand,  making  the  air  waves  vi-  ' 
brate.  About  a  mile  and  a  half  away  a  battery  of 
the  75 's  let  off  a  trial  round.  Too  short!  They  har- 
nessed up  again,  swung  round,  and  were  off  at  a 
gallop. 

Yonder  a  company  of  dragoons  were  trotting  in  the 
same  direction.  The  pursuit  had  begun. 


Serenity  481 

By  some  intuition  or  suggestion  my  vision  increased 
at  this  point.  I  had  the  feeling  that  I  could  see  from 
one  end  to  the  other  of  our  front.  On  the  Ourcq 
just  by,  and  farther  off  on  the  Marne,  the  Meuse,  the 
Moselle,  this  very  Destiny  was  being  pronounced; 
this  very  morning,  at  this  very  hour,  the  success  of 
our  counter-offensive;  the  hostile  rabble  dislocated, 
broken,  forced  to  retreat. 

Paris  and  France  saved !  A  grand  date  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world!  What  did  it  matter  how  long  the 
War  might  last. 

I  greeted  the  day  of  glory.  This  noble  stretch  of 
country,  the  Ile-de-France,  stood  forth  before  us — our 
adopted  land — and  lay  stretched  at  our  feet,  present- 
ing a  fertile  appearance  for  our  sakes. 

Preserved  for  the  sons  of  my  race,  the  acres  which 
nourished  us  with  their  substance  of  life-giving  pro- 
perties. I  thought  not  at  all  of  my  wound,  of  my 
life,  no  doubt  in  danger.  Content  to  have  lived 
until  this  sublime  instant,  I  united  in  the  same  love, 
the  freed  territory,  the  luminary  shining  on  my 
country,  the  beings  dear  to  my  heart ;  and  enlacing  the 
rugged  tree,  I  eagerly  stretched  myself  up  to  follow  to 
the  very  horizon  our  victorious  colours. 

My  strength  suddenly  gave  way.  The  leaden 
weight  became  aggravated.  I  yielded  with  the  one 
idea  of  falling  upon  my  sound  limb.  My  forehead 
struck  the  ground  and  I  fell  into  a  deep  swoon. 


31 


PART  IV 


483 


BOOK  X 
Epilogue 

CHAPTER  1 

APPREHENSIONS 

"THAT'S  doing  very  well — very  well  indeed!"  It 
was  Bujard,  the  house-surgeon,  who  was  speaking. 
"If  everyone  got  on  as  quickly  as  you " 

I  no  longer  felt  any  pain.  My  gaze  wandered  round 
the  huge  room.  It  was  warm  and  prettily  decorated 

— the  smoking-room  in  the  M hotel,  which  had 

been  converted  into  a  hospital.  My  temperature  was 
normal  again  and  I  experienced  a  sensation  of  relief 
and  deliverance.  How  delightful  it  was  to  rest  on 
this  pliant  mattress,  in  these  cool  sheets,  to  distinguish 
the  prattle  of  my  neighbours,  and  the  patter  of  the 
sister's  feet  standing  out  from  the  subdued  hubbub 
in  the  ward. 

When  the  light  tired  me,  I  closed  my  eyes  on  this 
scene,  and  went  over  the  vicissitudes  of  the  nightmare 
1  Had  just  left  behind.  .  .  . 

My  long  prostration  in  a  dying  condition,  on  that 
deserted  plateau;  swoons  from  which  I  awoke  at 
intervals;  that  deadly  cycle ;  two  days  and  two  nights. 

4*5 


486  Ordeal  by  Fire 

.  .  .  Ah !  Faces  were  leaning  over  me.  They  pick 
me  up  and  carry  me  away.  Where  am  I  ?  A  stretcher, 
a  motor  .  .  .  Heavens,  how  my  leg  tears  me !  How 
thirsty  I  am! 

In  the  train  now,  on  some  straw.  Round  me  those 
poor  unfortunates,  spectres,  drawing  their  last  breath, 
can  they  be  men?  But  I  am  like  them!  That  first 
dressing  in  the  train  .  .  .  They  snip  and  tear  my 
trouser  and  drawers;  my  wound  is  exposed,  all  soiled; 
matter  and  congealed  blood.  There  is  some  question 
of  detraining  me.  A  red-beard  opposes  the  suggest  ion , 
I  am  put  back  on  to  the  same  straw,  in  a  state  of 
decay.  The  train  starts  again,  and  rolls  on  and  on  for 
days.  Unexpected  or  unknown  names  of  stations. 
The  feeling  of  being  tossed  about  from  one  end  of 
France  to  the  other.  Oh,  this  heat,  this  jolting,  this 
acrid,  fetid  odour  of  humanity  ...  I  am  sleeping, 
or  dying,  unconscious  .  .  . 

A  very  different  period  follows — Vichy.  A  hospital 
ward,  this;  and  the  same  bed  on  which  I  am  still  lying. 
Washed  and  cared  for,  I  am  born  anew.  I  joke 
with  the  sister,  a  cheery  soul,  an  ex-nurse  in  the  expedi- 
tionary corps  in  China;  with  the  house-surgeon — he 
and  I  have  mutual  friends. 

My  wound  is  certainly  severe — the  fibula  is  shat- 
tered, the  tibia  fractured.  I  shall  limp.  But  what 
matter?  They  have  cut  away  a  lot  and  extracted 
splinters  of  bone,  and  scraps  of  clothes.  .  .  .'.••  Barring 
complications,  I  shall  have  five  or  six/weeks,  of  it,  not 
more.  .:  •. .  '  .';•  "  .•::"" 

Heavens,  how  beautiful  life  is!  ..The  Battle  of. .the 
Marne  has  -just  -been  fought.;..  What. inspiriting  read- 
ing the  newspapers  make.  '  I%e  mtoxieatiorxof  Victory; 
our-  Victory. •  -The- -very  day/I -arrived  I- was:able!  to 


Apprehensions  487 

have  two  telegrams  sent — their  destinations  will 
easily  be  guessed.  Jeannine  answered  at  once,  by  the 
ardent  letter  I  had  wished  for.  A  promise  in  it  makes 
my  heart  leap.  The  Landrys  will  arrange  to  come 
round  by  Vichy  on  their  way  to  the  South,  where  they 
spend  each  winter.  There  is  only  one  slight  shadow 
— an  allusion  to  certain  worries  of  the  grandmother's, 
money  matters,  from  what  I  can  gather. 

As  to  my  father :  here  he  is  installed  at  my  bedside. 

My  thoughts  are  pleasing  ones,  and  linger  over 
such  memories.  And  then — and  then ! 

A  Saturday  evening.  Ever  since  the  morning  my 
leg  seems  to  me  to  have  got  heavier.  .  .  .  Thirst 
dries  the  very  marrow  in  my  bones.  My  temperature 
suddenly  rises  101.2°.  When  it  is  taken  again  102.2°. 
What  does  it  mean?  Sunday  at  eight  o'clock  104°. 
Professor  Gauthier,  who  is  called  in  for  a  consultation, 
examines  me  and  seems  put  out.  These  confounded 
leg  wounds! 

More  incisions,  and  a  drainage  tube  is  put  back 
again,  and  we  must  wait  and  see. 

What  a  day !  I  am  consumed  with  thirst,  and  burn- 
ing hot.  My  leg  on  fire  right  up  to  the  hip,  paroxysms 
of  suffering,  infernal  shooting  pains.  Pus  is  forming 
in  it.  Exhaustion  soon  follows.  My  tongue  is  green, 
and  I  vomit.  I  no  longer  digest  anything.  Delirium 
sets  in.  I  call  Maman,  I  call  Jeannine,  in  a  despair- 
ing voice.  .  .  . 

Those  silhouettes  of  doctors.  That  consultation 
round  my  bed.  A  haze  envelops  me  ...  I  hear 
music!  Then  Bujard's  voice: 

"Well,  old  chap  .  .  .   ?" 

Halloa,  he's  very  affectionate! 

"We  may  have  to — amputate  .  .  .!" 


488  Ordeal  by  Fire 

From  the  depths  of  my  torpor,  I  have  understood. 
' '  Yes,  take  it  off !  Take  it  off !"  I  implore  them. 

"That's  right!  Very  sensible !"  He  nodded.  "A 
leg!  They  make  such  excellent  substitutes!  And 
then  ..." 

He  emphasised  this  point :  "You'll  suffer  no  more, 
you  know!" 

Oh,  how  well  he  knows  my  weak  spot.  No  more 
suffering — or  fever  .  .  . 

How  did  it  all  happen?  I  had  no  notion  of  any- 
thing. I  came  round  from  the  chloroform  to  find 
myself  in  my  bed.  My  father  said  to  me,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes: 

"That's  all  over,  Michel,  you're  saved!" 

I  slept  and  slept.  I  come  to  life  again.  I  open  my 
eyes.  Have  I  been  dreaming?  I  should  be  tempted 
to  think  so.  I  have  difficulty  in  persuading  myself  of 
the  reality  of  my  misfortune.  My  gaze  never  rests 
without  astonishment  on  the  fold  in  my  bed-clothes, 
where  it  sinks  down  over  the  stump  of  my  excised 
thigh. 

Stupefaction,  yes:  rather  than  distress.  I  am  less 
crushed  by  it  than  I  should  have  expected.  What  an 
abominable  thing  the  existence  of  beings  mutilated 
in  this  way  used  formerly  to  seem  to  me.  To-day  the 
fate  which  awaits  me  does  not  make  me  revolt.  I 
smile,  without  too  much  melancholy,  at  the  motherly 
words  of  encouragement  from  the  excellent  nun.  I 
take  note,  almost  with  amusement  of  the  sensations  of 
itching  in  my  missing  sole  and  big  toe,  common  in 
patients  who  have  had  a  leg  amputated. 

The  secret  of  my  serenity  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact 
that  my  thoughts  return  to  the  decisive  engagement 
when  leading  my  men.  I  had  consented  to  the  sacri- 


Apprehensions  489 

fice.  Intoxicating  moments  which  could  only  be  paid 
for  with  my  life !  And  this  last  week  again,  I  had  seen 
my  coffin  open;  death  flowed  in  my  veins.  Now 
Destiny  had  had  mercy  on  me.  I  might  well  con- 
sider myself  blest ! 

But  this  period  did  not  last  long.  At  the  end  of  a 
few  days,  the  memory  of  my  recent  tortures  paled. 
The  withdrawal  of  this  shadow  robbed  my  present 
condition  of  its  tinge  of  consolation. 

There  were  ten  of  us  in  this  ward,  all  seriously 
wounded,  and  operated  on  under  favourable  condi- 
tions. The  general  atmosphere  was  one  of  cheerful- 
ness. I  was  soon  out  of  sympathy  with  it. 

I  had  made  friends  with  my  next-door  neighbour,  a 
recruit  of  twenty,  Cadieu,  by  name.  He  was  always 
in  the  most  uproarious  spirits  and  quite  irresistible. 
I  compared  him  with  Judsi.  What  vitality  there 
must  be  in  a  race  which  produces  such  men  by  thou- 
sands !  His  leg  amputated  too,  and  like  mine,  in  the 
"upper  third,"  he  gaily  made  the  best  of  it.  First 
of  all  there  was  the  pension.  And  then  as  an  adjuster 
of  scales  it  wouldn't  worry  him  so  much  as  all  that! 
And  then,  what  was  a  leg  more  or  less  after  all  ? 

He  told  me  how  he  had  been  hit.  When  he  had  got 
the  splinter  in  his  leg,  he  had  said  to  himself:  "Well 
done!  Of  course  you  would  just  go  and  get  in  the 
light!"  Lying  down  in  a  furrow  he  was  waiting 
quietly  for — what?  Blimey!  the  end  o'  the  war! 
The  crackling  was  still  going  on  as  hard  as  ever. 
Suddenly,  paf!  Oh,  my  eye!  A  bullet  in  the  foot. 
But  'e'd  'ad  one  bit  o'  luck.  It  was  the  one  on  the 
same  side! 

The  boy  had  at  once  confided  his  love  affairs  to  me. 
His  lady  friend  was  a  housemaid  to  some  people  of  good 


49°  Ordeal  by  Fire 

position.  Her  name  was  Margaret.  "It  all  began 
by  that  there  song,  you  remember  'ow  it  goes,  'Mar- 
garet, give  me  your  'eart.'  I  'ummed  it  to  'er — . " 
One  child  brought  up  in  the  country  by  her  parents, 
good  old  things.  He  expected  her  to  come  and  see 
him  at  the  beginning  of  next  month:  "You're  kept  at 
it  pretty  'ard  in  'er  trade!  But  'er  missus'  'usband 
'as  just  bin  'napoohed'  too.  She  bolted  off  to  'im 
in  double-quick  time,  an'  w'en  Margaret  was  seein'  'er 
orf  at  the  station,  she  up  and  told  'er  that  'er  boy  was 
knocked  out,  too,  and  blowed  if  the  lidy  didn't  feel 
sorter  touched  by  it,  and  offered  'er  a  fortnight's 
'oliday!" 

His  outpourings  at  an  end,  Cadieu,  seeing  I  was  still 
depressed,  watched  me  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"And  wot  abaht  you?  An'  your  sweet'eart?"  he 
said  to  me  one  day. 

I  smiled.  "Not  married,  old  chap,  or  attached  in 
any  way.  No,  seriously!" 

How  much  to  the  point  his  guess  had  been,  though ! 

0  Jeannine!    Sleeping  and  waking  I  had  thought 
of  my  love.     The  other  week  her  fair  image  presided 
over  my  revival.     It  was  with  my  heart  dedicated  to 
her  that  I  had  put  myself  into  the  hands  of  the  sur- 
geons, and  when  I  had  opened  my  eyes  again,  amid  the 
giddiness  and  sickness,  it  was  the  light  of  her  face  that 
had  been  the  first  thing  to  pierce  the  veil  of  my  torpor. 

1  have  said  that  I  had  telegraphed,   that  I  had 
received  a  reply.     But  since  then,  what  a  striking 
change  there  had  been.     On  the  threshold  of  a  new  era, 
I  tremblingly  encouraged  myself  not  to  mistrust  her. 
I  remember  the  tone  in  which  De  Valpic  had  spoken  of 
his  unchanging  love,    when    just  on   the  point  of 
death. 


Apprehensions  491 

I  waited  to  write  to  her  until  I  had  recovered  my 
strength  to  a  certain  extent.  A  week !  How  long  the 
time  must  seem  to  her.  A  second  letter  came  from  her. 
She  demanded  news.  .  .  .  What  a  piece  of  news 
I  had  to  announce  to  her! 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  it,  however. 

My  first  sentence  revealed  everything  to  her.  It 
was  a  mutilated  man,  I  told  her,  who  was  tracing 
these  lines  to  her.  ...  I  stopped  short,  and  turned 
over  to  bury  my  head  in  my  pillow.  Tears  rose  to  my 
eyes!  Then  I  recovered  myself.  I  so  much  wanted 
this  letter  to  appear  a  normal  continuation  of  the 
others.  When  I  re-read  it,  I  was  struck  by  the  deadly 
heart-break  depicted  in  it,  in  spite  of  myself!  I  was 
on  the  point  of  tearing  the  pages  to  pieces.  I  stayed 
for  a  long  time,  balancing  them  in  my  hands.  Then 
I  finally  decided  to  slip  them  into  the  envelope;  my 
salvation  lay  entirely  in  the  pity  I  should  inspire. 

Some  days  passed  by  in  boredom,  and  overwhelming 
anxiety,  the  reason  of  which  I  now  forbade  myself  to 
specify.  I  tried  in  vain  to  distract  my  thoughts.  My 
father  read  the  papers  aloud  to  me — those  around  me 
profited  by  it.  With  the  monotonous  delivery  of  an 
officer  giving  the  order  of  the  day,  he  sometimes  stirred 
us  all  in  pronouncing  the  word  Victory.  He  had 
to  take  off  his  glasses  which  were  dimmed. 

But  the  Press  no  longer  reflected  the  same  enthusi- 
asm evinced  for  the  "Battle  of  the  Maine. "  The 
thankless  battle  of  the  Aisne  was  dragging  on,  and 
becoming  endless.  We  began  to  feel  that  the  enemy 
would  hold  out  for  a  long  time  on  this  stolen  territory. 
There  was  heavy  fighting  going  on  in  the  North.  Our 
left  and  the  German  right  struggling  to  outstrip  each 
other  in  their  race  for  the  coast— fierce  cavalry 


492  Ordeal  by  Fire 

encounters  round  Aire  and  Hazebrouck.  .  .  .  And 
there  were  already  sinister  rumours  abroad  concerning 
the  probable  fate  of  Anvers. 

I  bore  myself  a  grudge  for  not  being  more  thrilled. 
I  urged  myself  to  lose  sight  of  my  individual  misery, 
in  order  to  continue  in  communion  with  my  noble 
nation.  I  tried  hard  to  do  it,  but  my  efforts  were  in 
vain! 

An  epistle  from  Guillaumin  reached  me.  He  was 
safe  and  sound,  and  was  anxious  to  be  reassured  on  my 
account.  His  letter  contained  some  details.  Yes,  poor 
De  Valpic  had  fallen.  His  body  had  been  identified, 
and  was  reposing  in  hallowed  ground,  beneath  a  cross. 
The  platoon  had  been  reduced  to  half  its  strength  the 
day  after  Nanteuil,  but  reinforcements  had  arrived 
during  the  following  days.  They  had  been  engaged 
over  and  over  again  since  then,  and  were  fighting  nearly 
every  day;  yesterday  again  at  Guennevieres.  They 
did  not  forget  me  in  all  that!  Guillaumin  enclosed 
in  his  letter  a  joint  card  signed  by  each  poilu.  One 
shaky  scrawl  was  from  the  hand  of  poor  Donnadieu, 
hit  by  a  splinter  in  the  abdomen,  and  who,  so  my 
friend  told  me,  had  succumbed  during  the  night. 

Who  would  believe  that  I  put  off  answering  him. 
And,  for  that  matter,  my  sister-in-law,  too,  who  had 
sent  me  several  affectionate  missives.  Sometimes  it 
was  enervation  which  tortured  me,  as  I  lay  there, 
sometimes  a  gloomy  atony. 

Margaret,  Cadieu's  friend,  had  arrived,  a  pretty, 
fair-haired  girl  of  the  soubrette  and  inge'nue  type. 
Her  presence  exhilarated  my  neighbour  to  such  ari 
extent  that  our  corner  was  one  long  roar  of  laughter. 
I. alone  did  not  cheer  up.  He  cast  sorrowful  looks'  at 
me,  and  the  girl  took  to  bringing  me  flowers  in  the 


Apprehensions  493 

morning  when  she  brought  them  for  her  Julot.    How 
sorry  they  were  for  me ! 

And  my  father!  He  certainly  would  not  have 
questioned  me.  But  his  speech  which  was  usually 
abrupt,  softened,  and  his  gaze  grew  more  gentle  when 
it  rested  on  me.  I  was  grateful  to  him  for  his  tacit 
compassion,  and  I  felt  inclined  to  cry. 


CHAPTER  II 

RELIEF 

How  I  trembled  when  at  last  I  tore  open  .  .  .  !  My 
doom  was  to  be  pronounced.  My  secret  terror  was 
dissipated  on  glancing  at  the  first  lines.  Jeannine 
reminded  me  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  soldier, 
the  niece  and  granddaughter  of  a  soldier.  From  time 
immemorial,  glorious  wounds  had  been  revered  in  her 
family.  She  quoted  the  case  of  her  great-uncle,  who 
was  also  her  godfather,  who,  in  the  year  '70,  had  been 
hit  by  a  bullet  near  his  elbow,  and  had  soon  lost  the 
use  of  his  right  arm,  owing  to  rheumatism.  Their 
admiration  had  surrounded  him  and  followed  in  his 
train  all  his  life  long. 

My  misfortune,  she  said,  had  not  taken  her  by  sur- 
prise. She  had  dreaded  it  all  along.  Had  I  not 
discerned  her  deep  compassion  beneath  the  encourage- 
ment even  in  her  very  first  letter? 

At  this  point  her  tone  grew  more  tender.  She  was 
aware,  she  said,  of  my  bitterness  and  anguish  which 
I  tried  in  vain  to  conceal  from  her.  However,  I  had 
turned  to  her.  She  thanked  me  for  that.  She  was 
my  faithful  friend.  She  recognised  herself  as  being 
picked  out  to  help  me  in  my  trouble.  After  all,  I  was 
alive.  Wasn't  that  all  that  mattered?  My  misfor- 
tune did  not  lower  me.  It  all  raised  me,  on  the  con- 
trary. I  must  have  fought  superbly.  How  many  times 

494 


Relief  495 

a  day  she  had  pictured  me  leading  my  men  to  the 
attack.  I  had  been  intoxicated,  had  I  not,  by  all  that 
life  offered  of  sublime  sensations.  I  should  not  assume 
my  former  scepticism  again,  even  in  play.  What 
a  lot  we  should  have  to  tell  each  other  when — and 
Heaven  grant  that  the  day  might  be  near  at  hand — we 
met  again. 

I  read  and  re-read  these  six  pages.  I  never  tired  of 
assuring  myself  of  my  joy  and  revelling  in  it.  My 
heart  melted  as  a  result  of  the  relief,  and  turned  to- 
wards the  wall ;  I  wept  the  sweet  tears  which  had  been 
ready  to  flow  for  the  last  ten  days. 

I  now  recognised  clearly  what  I  had  dreaded  and 
could  smile  at  it.  A  revival  of  the  dry  mistrust  which 
was  dissipated  at  a  word  from  Jeannine ! 

This  miracle  of  her  persistent  affection  seemed  to  me 
the  simplest  and  most  natural  reality.  Since  the  milk 
of  human  kindness  was  not  an  empty  saying!  And 
then  one  might  have  mistrusted  another,  but  she,  like 
myself,  had  deliberately  raised  herself  above  the 
common  sphere  in  which  men's  feelings  move.  How 
little  the  scruples  and  hesitations  of  average  souls  could 
count  for  in  comparison  with  the  mute  vow  which 
bound  us.  We  belonged  to  each  other,  whatever 
might  happen ! 

But,  nevertheless,  when  the  first  transport  was  over, 
a  vague  feeling  of  unrest  returned  to  skim  the  surface 
of  my  mind.  I  was  insatiable.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
might  have  looked  for  a  more  tender  and  impassioned 
abandonment — for  some  involuntary  avowal.  .  .  . 

And  then,  no!  On  thinking  it  over,  I  had  no 
difficulty  in  convincing  myself  that  it  was  her  modesty 
which  forbade  her  to  declare  herself.  I  myself  had 
never  dared  to  put  it  into  writing.  No;  our  engage- 


496  Ordeal  by  Fire 

ment  would  be  ratified  by  a  hand-clasp,  by  the  chaste 
exchange  of  words. 

I  wrote  her  eight  pages  that  same  evening.  Our 
correspondence  was  resumed.  Each  of  us  now, 
certainly  waited  for  the  other's  letter  to  arrive  before 
answering  it — and  the  posts  were  still  uncertain,  a 
week  sometimes  went  by  without  bringing  the  looked- 
for  letter. 

I  was  not  without  regret  for  the  time  when  our 
love  had  found  a  way  to  express  itself,  every,  or  almost 
every  day.  We  had  ceased  to  move  amongst  those 
unique  circumstances  when  not  an  hour  must  be 
lost  in  pouring  out  all  one's  heart,  since  each  letter, 
received  or  despatched,  might  be  the  last.  This 
was  the  return  to  normal  conditions;  letters  between 
the  betrothed  before  the  ring  has  been  given.  It  was 
at  least  something  on  which  to  feed  the  certainty  of 
our  happiness. 

Time  went  on  and  on.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight 
they  had  given  my  leg  a  thorough  dressing  for  the 
first  time.  The  compresses,  with  the  aid  of  hot  water, 
had  come  off  more  quickly,  and  given  me  less  pain 
than  I  had  feared  they  might.  Bujard  congratulated 
me  on  the  condition  of  my  wound.  There  was  no 
trace  of  suppuration.  Three  weeks  more  and  I  should 
get  up ! 

I  smiled  at  his  words  of  encouragement.  I  mar- 
velled at  feeling  nothing  at  the  severed  stump  but  a 
sort  of  tickling  which  was  sometimes,  by  the  way, 
almost  intolerable.  The  feeling  that  my  right  thigh 
had  nothing  to  counter-balance  it  was  very  queer  too. 

The  occupants  of  our  ward  had  nearly  all  recovered. 
Some  more  beds  were  added.  They  tried  to  make 


Relief  497 

more  room,  and  sent  away  a  great  many  of  those 
who  could  stand  up.  Cadieu  was  despatched  to  a 
convalescent  home.  He  went  hobbling  off,  much 
amused  by  his  crutches.  And  merriment  went  with 
him. 

Many  of  the  new  arrivals  appeared  exhausted  and 
worn  out.  They  arrived  in  an  infected  state — it 
was  the  end  of  October — from  the  ghastly  slaughters 
in  Belgium.  There  were  several  cases  of  tetanus  and 
gangrene.  I  remember  a  big  fellow,  belonging  to  the 
naval  brigade,  who  screamed  with  pain  all  night,  and 
died  at  dawn. 

I  found  this  promiscuousness  very  trying,  and  lost 
strength  again.  My  friend  Bujard  noticed  it,  and, 
after  having  consulted  me,  arranged  for  me  to  have  a 
little  room  to  myself.  I  took  leave  of  the  sister,  Ste. 
Therese. 

To  begin  with  I  missed  the  fresh  air  in  the  ward. 
I  was  reduced  to  the  society  of  my  father  as  sole 
companion,  and  he  was  not  well,  because  he  had  had 
an  attack  of  choking  one  evening,  in  the  thick  of  the 
battle  of  the  Yser,  when  he  had  thought  our  line  had 
been  broken  through.  Bujard  had  warned  me  that 
he  was  threatened  with  angina  pectoris.  r>  • 

And  yet  with  what  solicitude  the  poor  man  sur- 
rounded me.  He  was  by  my  side  from  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  onwards.  He  never  left  me  during  the 
day,  and  had  obtained  permission  to  have  his  meals 
brought  up  there.  He  tried  everything  imaginable 
to  alleviate  the  monotony  of  my  long  convalescence* 
He  joined  a  library  so  that  I  might  have  books,  and 
tired  himself  by  reading  to  me  for  hours  together^ 
In  the  end  I  had  to  implore  Bujard  to  forbid  him  to 

32 


498  Ordeal  by  Fire 

read.  He  bought  me  a  quantity  of  maps  of  different 
scales,  and  we  tried  to  follow  the  situation,  and  the 
manoeuvres  of  our  five  principal  armies  during  the 
immortal  days  at  the  beginning  of  September.  We 
marked  out  the  actual  front  with  little  flags. 

We  talked,  too.  I  evoked  certain  scenes  from  my 
childhood,  our  Lorraine,  Ebermenil.  It  caused  my 
father  frightful  distress  to  think  that  the  enemy  were 
still  there.  "But  not  for  long,"  he  growled,  grinding 
his  teeth. 

If  I  pressed  the  subject  and  recalled  some  happy 
occasion  on  which  our  dear  departed  ones  had  figured 
at  our  sides,  then  I  used  to  see  him  fall  into  a  deep 
day-dream,  into  which  I  dared  not  break.  He  belonged 
to  those  whose  grief  is  frozen  and  taciturn,  more 
heart-rending,  perhaps,  than  ours,  which  is  assuaged 
when  we  give  vent  to  it. 

I  realised  anew  the  difference  in  our  two  natures — 
not  without  regret !  I  should  never  have  ventured,  I 
thought,  to  allow  him  even  a  glimpse  of  the  surpris- 
ing evolution  which  had  made  a  new  man  of  me.  It 
would  have  revolted  him  to  learn  from  what  depths 
I  had  started,  and  all  that  had  been  needed  to  bring  me 
to  this  state  of  grace  in  which  he  had  maintained  him- 
self without  an  effort,  for  more  than  forty  years. 

Jeannine,  everything  brought  back  the  longing  for 
your  beloved  presence!  You  alone  knew  me,  such  as 
I  had  been  and  such  as  I  was.  What  pride,  just  think, 
for  us  two,  to  ascertain  how,  little  by  little,  at  the  seat 
of  my  love  for  you,  all  these  virtues  had  blossomed 
in  my  soul.  You  would  persuade  me,  perhaps,  that  I 
bore  the  germs  in  my  heart,  but  that  they  could  never 
have  flowered  in  the  etiolating  atmosphere  in  which 
my  life  had  been  spent. 


Relief  499 

Stirred  by  such  thoughts,  I  suddenly  became  more 
sensible  to  the  paternal  affection.  What  nurse  would 
have  set  her  wits  to  work  in  such  a  touching  fashion? 
He  tried  to  remember  how  my  mother  used  to  treat  me 
during  my  long  illnesses  in  former  days. 

One  morning,  he  put  a  pack  of  cards  on  my  table 
and  timidly  proposed  a  game  of  piquet. 

"A  good  idea!"  I  said.     "Let's  draw!" 

He  puckered  his  forehead  and  played  attentively, 
and  won.  And  I  could  see  myself  again  as  a  child — a 
child  playing  like  this  with  my  mother,  caressing  her 
beautiful  white  hands.  I  could  have  seized  and 
kissed  this  old  man's  wrinkled  hands.  The  unique 
tenderness  of  parents,  which  one  must  hasten  to 
enjoy !  My  mother  had  passed  away  years  and  years 
ago — and  as  for  him,  the  last  on  earth  of  the  beings 
whom  I  perpetuated,  how  much  time  would  slip  away 
before  they  left  him,  having  lived  his  life,  between 
four  planks?  I  was  harrowed  in  advance.  I  made 
a  vow  to  do  all  that  was  in  my  power  to  sweeten  the 
days — restricted,  alas,  in  number — which  still  re- 
mained to  him.  . 


CHAPTER  III 

A  SUNLIT  CONVALESCENCE 

ONE  afternoon,  towards  two  o'clock,  my  father  took 
his  hat,  and  said  to  me,  in  rather  a  mysterious  tone: 

"I  must  go  out  on  an  errand.  I'll  be  back  in  a 
moment.," 

Half  an  hour  later  I  became  aware  of  shuffling  going 
on  outside  my  door.     Somebody  knocked. 
,  " Come  in!" 

.  A  little  boy,  dressed  in  black,  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  My  heart  gave  a  bound.  That  prominent 
forehead,  where  fair  curls  rolled,  that  straight,  brilliant 
gaze.  Victor  I  Victor,  at  five  years  old.  Victor  as 
he  had  been  when  my  eyes  had  opened  on  him  as  a 
little  child. 

It  was  his  son — little  Robert. 

Behind  him  was  my  sister-in-law.  She  came 
straight  up  to  my  bed,  and  bent  down,  raising  her 
long  widow's  veil.  We  kissed  each  other,  and  I 
demanded  my  little  niece  Brigitte,  who  was  shy  and 
was  burying  her  face  in  her  mother's  skirts. 

The  conversation  immediately  started  off,  quite 
naturally  and  delightfully,  free  of  its  whilom  reserve. 
We  ingenuously  confessed  that  we  had  learnt  to  know 
each  other,  and  how  we  had  felt  the  mutual  affection 
grow,  in  the  course  of  these  terrible  months. 

500 


A  Sunlit  Convalescence          501 

Madeleine  had  come  to  stay  at  Vichy  for  a  few  days. 

"We  will  give  you  new  courage, "  she  said. 

"I'm  not  lacking  in  it!  You're  the  one  who  needs 
it,  poor  little  sister. " 

"Oh !     I  have  enough  for  three. " 

It  was  true  enough.  I  was  struck  by  her  spirit  of 
determination.  And  I  had  thought  her  in  danger  of  giv- 
ing way  entirely  beneath  the  blow.  She  spoke  of  noth- 
ing but  the  future;  of  her  plans;  of  the  education  of 
her  children.  She  thought  of  going  to  live  at  Versailles : 
the  rents  were  not  so  high  there  as  in  Paris,  they 
would  be  near  the  town,  and  the  Lycee  Hoche.  For 
she  wanted  to  keep  Robert  with  her,  in  order  that  the 
whole  family  should  cling  together.  • 

As  my  eyes  were  again  drawn  irresistibly  to  the 
little  boy,  she  said:  "Isn't  he  like " 

She  did  not  complete  the  sentence.  Tears  pearled 
on  her  eyelashes.  It  was  one  of  the  few  allusions 
she  allowed  herself,  to  her  great  sorrow. 

I  told  her  that  her  children  would  find  a  second 
father  in  me. 

"He  counted  on  it,"  she  assured  me. 

And  she  showed  me  a  note  which  Victor  had  written 
before  leaving  St.  Mihiel;  a  few  lines  in  which  "he 
confided  those  dearest  to  him  on  earth,  to  my  charge. 
What  instinct  warned  him  that  he  would  fall;  that  I 
should  be  preserved? 

I  reverently  welcomed  this  sacred  bequest.  When 
my  father  had  gone  I  should  be  the  head  of  the  family. 
New  duties  which  I  hailed  with  delight.  •  'And  inCa 
short  time,  I  said  to  myself,  Madeleine  would-  find-in 
Jeannine  a  friend,  more  than  a  friend,  I  think  that  if. 
we  had  been  alone  it  would  have  been -to  her,. /first -of- 
all,  that  I  should  have-  revealed  my -secret.-  •  ;..::•••  . 


502  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Those  were  calm  days  perfumed  by  sympathy  and 
friendship.  I  had  to  tell  the  story  of  my  campaign 
in  full  detail.  Not  even  the  children  seemed  bored  as 
they  listened. 

Dear  mites  they  were!  Too  quiet  and  good.  I 
sent  to  a  neighbouring  bazaar  for  some  toys  for  them. 
Then  I  drew  up  a  plan  for  the  future. 

I  asked  my  sister-in-law  what  she  meant  to  do  for 
the  winter.  It  was  impossible  for  her  to  go  back 
home.  The  enemy  had  just  laid  hands  on  St.  Mihiel. 

"Stay  in  Paris,"  she  said. 

"  How  depressing  that  would  be !" 

I  pretended  to  be  seized  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 
"Suppose  we  all  went  off  to  the  Riviera  for  a  time,  for 
a  rest?" 

The  suggestion  was  carried  unanimously.  It  was  a 
landmark  set  up  ...  To  draw  all  my  belongings 
down  there.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  accompanying 
me,  they  would  share  my  joy.  As  for  me — could 
I  hesitate?  The  Landrys'  departure  for  Antibes, 
seriously  delayed  by  certain  complications,  was  fixed 
for  the  following  month.  I  had  reminded  Jeannine 
of  her  promise  to  come  round  by  the  Bourbon  line. 
The  matter  was  arranged. 

I  fondly  imagined  that  I  should  have  recovered  by 
that  date.  Bujard  spoke  to  me  every  day  of  the 
marvellous  apparatus  which  was  to  disguise  my 
misfortune. 

My  sister  left  again  with  her  children,  recalled  to 
Paris  by  various  purchases  and  other  matters.  The 
sweetness  she  had  brought  with  her  persisted.  Those 
were  radiant  days. 

I  began  to  get  up.     First  a  foot  out  of  bed,  nothing^ 


A  Sunlit  Convalescence          503 

more.  My  father  who  was  still  vigorous  lent  me  the 
support  of  his  arm.  My  head  swam  when  I  stood  up. 
I  was  just  able  to  reach  an  arm-chair,  and  doubted 
whether  my  strength  could  ever  come  back.  I  was 
especially  bewildered  by  the  strange  lack  of  equilibrium. 

I  held  the  crutches  in  abhorrence.  I  should  never 
get  accustomed  to  that.  Directly  it  was  possible, 
Bujard  brought  me  a  wooden  stump.  Frightful! 
However,  it  was  a  way  of  progressing.  My  left  leg 
was  able  to  get  exercise,  and  regain  strength,  little 
by  little.  I  walked  up  and  down  the  landings,  and  the 
hotel  garden. 

I  was  measured  for  a  jointed  limb.  Bujard  had 
told  me  of  an  American  firm  which  was  supplying 
both  groups  of  belligerents,  so  he  assured  me.  I  sent 
my  order  to  them. 

The  delay  demanded  had  seemed  to  me  very  reason- 
able. But,  when  I  first  began  to  go  into  the  town 
I  fell  a  prey  to  the  embarrassing  compassion  of  the 
passers-by.  They  nudged  each  other,  when  they  met 
me. 

"Another  one!" 

"Poor  fellow!" 

I,  who  aspired  to  losing  myself  in  the  crowd,  like 
other  people! 

I  happened  just  then  to  come  across  the  prospectus 
of  an  English  firm,  which  offered  to  provide  the  whole 
thing  complete  in  a  fortnight,  at  a  price  defying  all 
competition ! 

"A  hoax!"  Bujard  warned  me. 

It  couldn't  be  helped.  I  was  consumed  with 
impatience.  I  wrote,  enclosing  my  cheque.  We 
should  see.  It  would  be  well  worth  the  twelve 
pounds  it  would  cost  me. 


504  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Those  were  happy  weeks,  I  repeat.  I  went  before  a 
Board;  I  was  passed,  and  left  the  hospital.  I  was 
free!  And  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  I  had 
paid  my  debt  to  the  full. 

I  wrote  letters,  and  received  them.  Madeleine  wrote 
me  jewels  of  sisterly  affection.  Guillaumin,  for  his 
part,  sent  me  picturesque  epistles.  They  had  had 
a  rough  time  again,  at  the  beginning  of  October, 
Around  Champieu  and  De  Roye. 
•:•..  Since,  then,  trench  warfare  had  been  inaugurated: 
they  were  settling  down  for  the  winter.  There  was 
not  a  word  of  complaint,  simply  the  tranquil  and 
delightful  keenness'  he  had  always  shown.  The 
morale  of  the  men  was  intact.  And  they  had  had  so 
few  casualties  during  the  last  five  weeks.  They 
were  well  fed.  The  only  drawback  was  the  lack  of 
heating  arrangements ! 

5  .  I  replied  to  him  at  length,  and  sent  a  real  letter,  too, 
io  each  man  who  had  signed  the  collective  post-card 
.which  I  have  already  mentioned. 

I  asked  my  sister-in-law  to  go  and  call  on  Guillau- 
min's  sister  in  the  little  flat  she  had  in  the  Gobelins. 
They  talked  for  a  whole  hour  about  him  and  me, 
like  firm  ..friends.;  and  Madeleine  managed  to  procure 
some  piano  lessons  for  the  other — a  real  feat ! 

.  The  postal'arrangements  had  improved  considerably. 
;  Neither  Jeannine  nor  I  lost  any  time.  Directly  a 
letter  arrived— quick '—the  answer  was  written. 
Our  eagerness  was  more  intense  than  ever. 

The  German  offensive  in  the  North  had  not  come 
:t6'an  end.  .  The  fighting  round  Ypres  had  caused  us  a 
;  recurrence  of  anguish.     My  father  had  another  attack 
-one  evening  .when  we  once  more  thought — from  reti- 
cences in  the  communig^ue-^-tho.t  our  line  had  been 


A  Sunlit  Convalescence          505 

forced  and  penetrated,  and  that  the  road  to  Calais  was 
open. 

A  few  words  from  Jeannine — a  supplementary 
card,  that  one — were  what  reassured  us,  before  all  the 
papers.  An  aide-de-camp  from  Foch  had  just  been 
dining  with  them,  and  had  given  them  details.  The 
situation  had  been  critical,  desperate,  one  day,  but  it 
had  been  tardily  re-established  the  next  day,  and  was 
now  consolidated,  and  no  longer  gave  any  cause  for 
alarm. 

I  read  the  whole  passage  to  my  father.  He  gave  a 
sigh  of  relief. 

"We  are  saved,  then!  The  source  of  your  informa- 
tion seems  reliable.  Is  it  one  of  your  friends,  who's 
written  to  you?" 

"A  friend,  yes." 

Later  on,  quite  soon,  it  would  be  sweet  to  open  my 
heart  to  him,  to  claim  his  blessing  on  the  daughter  I 
should  bring  him. 

The  Landrys  had  again  put  off  the  date  of  their 
departure.  Jeannine  gave  me  to  understand,  with  a 
certain  emphasis,  that  some  business  matters  could 
not  be  settled.  I  had  the  delicacy  never  to  ask  for 
details. 

This  delay  suited  me  very  well.  I  would  have 
given  a  lot  for  them  not  to  join  us  before  the  ghastly 
"stump"  had  been  relegated  to  the  rubbish  heap. 
Jeannine  had,  perhaps,  guessed  as  much. 

Oh!  our  correspondence  at  that  point.  I  cannot 
prevent  myself  from  returning  to  the  subject.  Its 
tone  of  complete  confidence,  of  youthful  abandonment. 
Oh!  my  loving  beloved;  arrayed  in  every  attraction, 
who  did  not  intoxicate  me  solely  by  the  enchantment 
of  her  clear  life  and  warm  seduction,  nor  solely  by  the 


506  Ordeal  by  Fire 

goodness  which  all  her  being  irradiated.  She  was  tHe 
intellectual  companion,  too — the  complement,  for 
which  man's  instinct  yearns,  and  which  he  discovers 
so  rarely. 

Sometimes,  after  having  come  into  collision  with 
my  father  who  could  not  be  shaken  in  his  opinions,  I 
would  turn  to  her  in  delight  and  admire  her  broader 
outlook.  For  instance,  he  did  not  desire,  or  even 
admit,  the  possibility  of  peace  or  a  truce  before  the 
enemy  had  been  completely  crushed.  According  to 
him,  the  necessary  conditions  of  the  future  Treaty  were 
that  the  Central  Powers  should  be  dismembered ;  large 
territories  annexed;  and  our  frontier  extended  as  far 
as  the  Rhine.  The  brutal  law  of  force.  The  van- 
quished must  bow  his  head.  While,  as  for  her  it 
must  be  noted  that  she  cursed  the  cruel  blindness 
of  the  Teuton  caste  which  provoked  the  catastrophe 
just  as  much  as  I  did.  But  she  followed  me — far 
better  than  that — she  boldly  out-stripped  me  in  my 
desire  simply  for  the  repression  of  a  minor  race,  in 
my  wish  for  the  future  re-establishment  of  concord 
among  all  nations,  not  excepting  even  that  one.  Did 
she  not  want  to  convince  me  that  each  great  race  in 
turn  let  itself  be  ensnared  by  the  mirage  of  universal 
hegemony.  Look  at  us,  under  Napoleon!  In  fifty 
or  a  hundred  years,  we  should  see  these  Germans 
rallied  to  our  republican  wisdom. 

What  joy  I  experienced  in  playing  lightly  upon  all 
the  chords  of  this  young  soul,  in  hearing  each  one  of 
them  vibrate  in  harmony  with  me. 

I  will  quote  one  touching  incident.  She  it  was 
who  sent  me,  by  telegram,  too,  the  text  of  my  pro- 
motion, as  it  appeared  in  the  Gazette  on  November 
the  23rd.  So  that  was  why  she  had  sounded  me  so 


A  Sunlit  Convalescence          507 

dexterously  for  a  long  time  now.  I  had  told  her 
what  I  knew,  what  my  captain  proposed.  I  thought 
no  more  about  it,  instead  of  which,  she  had  studied 
the  lists  for  weeks  and  weeks,  with  the  perseverance 
of  a  woman  in  love. 

The  English  firm  fulfilled  their  contract,  the  order 
was  delivered  on  the  promised  date.  Bujard  shook  his 
head  when  he  examined  it.  Just  as  he  had  expected. 
A  ready-made  model ! 

As  for  me,  the  apparatus  attracted  me.  I  put  it  on 
hurriedly,  and  having  pulled  on  my  trousers,  went 
and  planted  myself  in  front  of  the  wardrobe  looking- 
glass,  which  no  longer  reflected  the  former,  monstrous 
and  incomplete  apparition.  Upright  and  firmly 
planted  on  my  feet,  and  well-balanced,  I  admired 
myself,  restored  to  my  manly  dignity.  Now,  Jeannine 
might  come!  I  could  not  help  telling  her  of  the 
joy  which  was  running  over  in  me.  I  jokingly  told 
her  that  I  had  to  think  before  being  sure  which  leg 
was  missing. 

She  replied  with  the  announcement  that  they  were 
to  start  on  their  journey  in  a  few  days. 

The  fulness  of  life!  The  rapture  of  it!  I  was 
about  to  attain  my  supreme  end,  and  was  exalted  by 
the  prospect  of  it.  The  time  was  accomplished.  I 
had  escaped  the  wind  of  death  which  had  felled  so 
many  others.  The  war  might  still  be  in  progress — 
I  must  ask  pardon  for  this  return  of  egoism! — At  a 
time  when  my  brothers  were  still  suffering  and  perish- 
ing, I  awaited,  with  heart  enthralled,  the  coming  of 
my  betrothed. 

How  strange  is  destiny.  I  looked  back  upon  the 
weeks  spent,  not  so  very  long  ago,  beside  this  girl.  I 


508  Ordeal  by  Fire 

had  not  had  an  inkling,  then,  of  what  she  was  to  be  to 
me.  How  fantastic  it  seemed  that  I  should  be  beholden 
to  that  brutal  separation.  How  near  I  had  come  to 
neglecting  happiness ! 

But  for  the  War ! 

I  dared  to  look  this  terrible  truth  in  the  face.  Thus 
are  hearts  tempered  anew.  I  had  had  to  undergo  the 
dread  ordeal  by  fire,  which  consumes  the  greater 
number,  whence  a  few  issue,  purified. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  AWAKENING 

SUCH  was  the  dream  I  lived  in.  To-day,  when  I 
go  over  that  time  in  retrospect,  I  ask  myself  whether 
I  did  not  experience  any  anxiety.  Not  the  least. 
Not  for  an  instant  did  I  see  my  sky  overcast. 

I  was  harshly  undeceived  on  one  point  though.  In 
using  it  I  found  out  how  second-rate  the  English  article 
was.  It  answered  the  purpose  all  right  as  long  as  I 
kept  still,  but  light  as  it  seemed  it  was  necessary  to 
exert  my  hip  to  work  it,  which  made  me  walk  with  a 
kind  of  unsightly  swing  and  very  quickly  tired  me. 

I  got  into  the  habit  of  going  out  during  the  best 
hours  of  the  day  while  the  fine  weather  lasted.  Once 
outside,  I  walked  slowly,  putting  on  the  air  of  a 
loiterer.  As  uninitiated  passers-by  might  well  think 
I  was  merely  slightly  lame,  I  now  had  to  be  doubly 
vigilant  about  avoiding  the  least  contact  with  the 
crowd.  Alas!  I  was  very  unsteady;  twice  I  nearly 
fell  when  someone  bumped  into  me,  and  people  did  not 
apologise;  the  mufti  I  had  taken  to  again  seemed  to 
rob  me  of  the  right  to  any  consideration. 

Who  would  believe  that  I  almost  got  as  far  as  to 
regret  the  wooden  stump?  My  last  hopes  were  fixed 
on  the  American  firm.  I  congratulated  myself  upon 
not  having  cancelled  my  order.  A  fellow-sufferer  had 
just  been  introduced  to  me,  who  had  been  supplied 

509 


510  Ordeal  by  Fire 

with  a  leg  by  them,  and  I  marvelled  at  his  young 
and  supple  carriage. 

Why  did  I  make  a  point  of  telling  Jeannine  of  my 
disillusionment  ?  Perhaps  in  order  to  get  the  answer, 
"What  are  you  worrying  about?"  With  ambitious 
coquetry  I  boasted  in  advance  of  the  wonders 
expected  from  the  other  firm. 

The  reply  was  delayed  for  six  days,  and  when  it  came 
was  only  four  pages.  The  Landrys  were  putting  the 
finishing  touch  to  their  preparations.  There  was  not  a 
single  allusion  to  my  infirmity,  which  I  had  told  her 
was  well  on  the  way  to  being  cured.  No  doubt  she 
had  made  a  rule  never  to  broach  the  subject.  Having 
once  and  for  all  given  me  proof  of  her  tender  pity  she 
wished  thenceforward  to  spare  me  the  humiliation  of 
feeling  that  she  even  thought  of  it. 

Some  days  slipped  by.  I  had  written  to  her  again 
in  an  affectionate  tone.  Though  tempted  to  give 
her  to  understand  that  it  would  be  less  painful  to  show 
myself  to  her  in  a  fortnight's  time,  I  refrained  from 
making  such  a  mistake.  That  was  a  secondary  mat- 
ter. Only  let  her  come !  let  her  come !  Oh,  my  love! 

At  this  point,  there  was  a  long  silence  on  her  part. 
Must  it  be  put  down  to  the  postal  service  again  ?  No, 
we  received  our  other  letters  from  Paris  quite  regularly. 

At  the  end  of  ten  days  I  wrote  her  a  line,  saying 
that  I  was  anxious.  No  answer — what  could  I  make  of 
it?  I  was  seized  with  apprehension.  Was  she  ill 
perhaps  ?  But  I  should  have  been  told  about  it.  Had 
some  accident  happened  to  her?  That  was  more 
likely.  If  so,  what  was  it?  My  thoughts  wandered, 
incapable  of  fixing  themselves. 

.  Then,  one  morning,  just  as  I  got  out  of  bed,  the 
waiter  brought  me  a  card.     What  power  there  is  in 


The  Awakening  511 

presentiments !  As  I  took  it  from  him  I  distinctly  saw 

another,  the  one  I  had  got  from  Jeannine  at  F the 

day  before  we  started.  I  immediately  thought — why, 
I  wonder?  that  was  the  first,  and  this — this,  the  last! 

It  was  not  the  Paris  postmark.  I  undid  it  slowly, 
pretending — on  whose  account? — to  be  unmoved. 
One  page,  no  more.  It  was  headed  Juan-les-Pins, 
December  17,  1914.  Jeannine  expressed  her  regret 
at  the  fact  that  they  had  been  prevented 
from  making  the  detour  they  intended,  because  the 
time-tables  fitted  in  so  awkwardly.  Her  grandmother 
was  not  very  well,  as  a  result  of  a  great  deal  of  worry, 
and  found  the  journey  long  enough  without  adding  to 
it.  They  had  arrived  the  day  before  yesterday  on  the 
Riviera,  which  was  not  justifying  its  reputation,  since 
the  sun  was  absent.  It  lacked  joyousness  above 
everything.  She  added  that  she  could  not  tear  her 
thoughts  away  from  the  cold  Northern  regions,  where 
so  much  youth,  and  all  the  promise  of  the  future  was 
succumbing.  She  ended  by  expressing  the  hope  that 
we  should  see  each  other  again  some  day.  There  was 
no  allusion  to  our  travelling  plans,  which  I  had  men- 
tioned to  her  several  times. 

I  stood  still,  thunderstruck.  I  mechanically  began 
to  read  over  the  lines  again.  The  letters  were  danc- 
ing. I  searched  for  an  unexpected  meaning  in  them. 
I  refused  to  admit  .  .  .  But  the  conviction  was 
secretly  gaining  ground  in  my  mind. 

When  I  got  to  the  signature  again,  there  was  not  an 
unsteady  stroke.  The  evolution  was  complete;  I  was 
ripe  at  last  to  understand.  It  was  the  emanation  of  a 
distant,  a  prodigiously  distant  being.  How  could  I  ever 
have  thought — ?  My  simplicity  amazed  me.  Here, 
endless  overwhelming  forebodings  occurred  to  my 


512  Ordeal  by  Fire 

mind.  The  imperceptibly,  but  totally  changed  tone  of 
her  letters;  the  note  of  friendship  substituted  for 
that  of  love;  never  a  word  in  reference  to  my  mis- 
fortune; the  grandmother  always  refraining  from 
adding  a  personal  message,  the  long-delayed  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  me  again.  Lastly,  the  brutal  decision : 
these  four  sentences  of  dismissal. 

I  leant  on  the  window  looking  over  the  hotel  garden 
from  the  second  floor.  A  bare  lawn,  and  leafless  trees. 
A  cold  and  dreary  wind  was  blowing,  this  winter  morn- 
ing. I  pictured  her,  too,  at  her  window  opening  on  to 
the  sea.  My  thoughts  sought  her  thoughts.  Yes, 
I  wanted  her  to  feel  me  moved  by  her  cold,  heart- 
breaking epistle  at  that  moment.  Ah,  and  if  she  could 
have  read  my  heart,  she  would  have  seen  that  it  held 
for  her  nothing  but  a  desperate,  resigned  devotion. 

Move  her  to  pity  ?  A  dead  ambition.  Demand  an 
explanation?  What  was  the  good?  I  saw  it  quite 
clearly.  Curse  her,  blaspheme  against  her?  How 
far  that  was  from  my  thoughts.  I  did  not  accuse 
her  of  treachery.  It  seemed  to  me  certain  that  at  the 
time  of  the  uplifting  struggle  she  had  dreamt  of  me 
as  her  bridegroom  of  to-morrow.  But  since  I  had 
been  damaged.  My  God!  What  could  I  have  re- 
proached her  with? 

Had  I  still  supposed  myself  worthy  to  inspire 
contentment  in  a  youthful  creature,  inexperienced  and 
perfect?  When  no  engagement  bound  us!  For  on 
what  foundations  had  I  built  ?  On  nothing  more  than 
an  odd  avowal  or  two  hidden  here  and  there  between 
the  lines.  Sand  scattered  by  the  wind!  I  might 
read  over  her  letters,  those  written  during  the  last  few 
months  and  even  those  at  the  beginning.  When 
once  my  own  ardour  had  abated  I  should  not  find  in 


The  Awakening  513 

them  either  oath  or  promise;  there  was  nothing  there, 
nothing  had  ever  been  expressed  but  a  sisterly  affection. 

It  occurred  to  my  mind  that  more  than  one  girl  of 
former  days,  brought  up  in  the  pious  ideas  of  devotion 
and  self-sacrifice,  would  have  felt  herself  especially 
bound  to  proclaim  as  her  fiance*  the  man  who  had 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  Fate — inspirations  to  be 
respected,  but,  I  admitted,  out  of  date.  This  genera- 
tion, less  sensible — I  have  already  said  Jeannine 
was  not  the  least — to  the  impress  of  religion,  showed 
more  common  sense.  It  was  permissible  for  a  child 
of  our  century,  however  generous  she  might  be,  to 
trust  to  time  to  cure  all  heartaches,  in  others  and  in 
herself,  to  aspire  to  a  happiness  other  than  sacrifice. 

Jeannine  might  have  suffered,  might  be  suffering 
still.  Yes,  she  must  regret  that  what  was  not,  might 
not  be.  It  was  possible  that  she  might  carry  away  a 
picture  of  me  which  would  illuminate  a  chaste  corner 
of  her  memory:  an  idol  that  she  had  not  been  able 
to  bring  herself  to  destroy  by  seeing  me  again.  It  was 
Reason.  I  bowed  to  the  sovereign  I  always  recognised . 
Does  one  not  usually  end  by  repenting  of  a  sacrifice  ? 
I  glanced  into  the  glass — I  have  said  that  I  was  not 
dressed:  ugliness,  a  lack  of  harmony,  weakness.  If 
I  had  given  her  my  arm,  she  would  have  been  the  one 
to  support  me.  What  shame,  what  remorse  even, 
there  would  have  been  for  me,  in  paralysing  this 
creature,  so  vividly  alive,  in  eternally  hearing  her 
pitied,  she  who  was  born  to  be  envied. 

I  dressed  with  my  mind  a  blank.  I  abstained,  when 
I  was  ready,  from  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  room 
next  to  mine,  where  my  father  slept.  I  was  afraid 
of  letting  him  see  the  distracted  look  on  my  face. 

I  went  downstairs  and  out  of  doors.      Where  should 

33 


514  Ordeal  by  Fire 

I  go  to?  I  avoided  the  frequented  streets,  and  the 
park  where  I  liked  to  sit.  It  was  a  long  round.  How 
my  leg  weighed  on  me.  But  I  forced  myself  to  walk 
quickly,  as  long  as  I  continued  to  meet  any  one.  When 
I  got  beyond  the  suburbs  some  power  or  other  abruptly 
cea  ed  to  support  me.  Faint,  and  at  the  end  of  my 
strength,  I  was  only  just  able  to  reach  a  heap  of  stones, 
upon  which  I  sank  down. 

There  was  a  nip  in  the  air.  The  sun,  like  a  dull  ball, 
appeared  behind  a  livid  curtain  of  cloud. 

What  a  feeling  of  irremediable  collapse!  All  my 
strength,  physical  and  moral,  was  annulled.  My 
despair  alone  lived  on  in  the  depths  of  my  frozen  heart. 
For  a  long  while  I  experienced  a  secret,  harrowing  joy 
in  imagining  the  future,  such  as  it  might  have  been. 
My  sorrow  was  exasperated  by  turning  over  such 
visions  in  my  mind,  and  reached  a  state  of  paroxysm. 
I  could  not  bear  it.  I  got  up,  picked  up  my  stick, 
and  went  on  along  the  road. 

Not  far  away,  beyond  some  fields,  a  line  of  poplars 
made  me  guess  where  the  Allier  lay.  I  was  drawn 
on  by  a  fatal  longing  to  reach  the  bank  of  the  river. 
Poor  soul,  born  but  to  disappear! 

Swollen  by  the  autumn  rains,  the  river  filled  its 
huge  bed  to  the  brink.  It  was  a  glaucous,  sinister 
stretch  of  water.  Eddying  foam  was  swept  along 
on  a  strong  current. 

I  was  tempted.  I  approached  the  bank.  It  fell 
away  in  a  steep  slope  towards  the  stream  which 
swished  along  it  with  a  monotonous  gurgle.  I  planted 
my  stick  at  the  extreme  edge  among  the  fragments 
of  slate.  I  leant  over — it  was  horribly  alluring — • 
and  I  granted  myself  a  certain  delay. 

What  a  stirring  moment  that  was  while  my  fate 


The  Awakening  515 

hung  in  the  balance.  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  my 
tether.  What  had  brought  me  there  ?  Was  it  not  the 
paltry  idea  of  bringing  remorse  to  birth  in  Jeannine's 
heart?  But  what  would  she  know  of  my  wretched 
fate  ?  And  why  revenge  myself  so  basely  ?  I  scrupled 
to  annihilate  the  vestige  of  strength  which  I  con- 
stituted. Lastly,  there  was  the  disdain  for  an  act  of 
romantic  impotence. 

And  then,  what  pulled  me  up  short  was  the  thought 
of  the  old  man,  who  must  have  heard  me  go  out,  who 
was  alarmed  no  doubt  already,  whose  life  hung  upon 
my  return.  Then  I  sat  down.  Ceasing  to  hypnotise 
myself  by  gazing  at  the  torrent  eating  away  the  bank 
at  my  feet,  my  eyes  strayed  to  the  horizon.  By  a 
stretch  of  the  imagination  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
dominated  the  field  where  my  individual  happiness  had 
been  shattered. 

The  War!  Had  I  not  come — I  remember  the  day 
before — to  deify  the  word !  Yes,  it  was  a  progressive 
spell.  The  War!  While  childishly  attributing  the 
rejuvenation  of  my  soul  to  it,  I  had  ended  by  seeing 
in  it  the  fairy  who  was  cruel  to  be  kind.  So  many 
thinkers  and  poets  had  bowed  down  to  this  terrible 
goddess,  before  me. 

My  aberration  fell  to  pieces.  The  War!  The 
abominations  which  were  really  contained  in  this 
term  rose  up  and  quelled  me. 

Those  villages,  blazing  like  torches.  The  Meuse 
rolling  by  with  its  purple  slime;  the  woods  of  Mon- 
trolles  with  their  grasses  stained  with  mottled  patches 
violet,  the  traces  of  our  brothers  massacred  there. 
O  death,  sole  enemy  of  man,  sneering  at  the  orgies  of 
the  sword!  So  many  beings  who  moved  and  loved, 
struck  off  the  rolls,  so  many  lights  put  out !  De  Valpic, 


516  Ordeal  by  Fire 

the  great-hearted,  and  Henriot  and  little  Fremont;  my 
excellent  Bouillon,  Prunelle,  Icard;  Descroix  and 
Playoust,  too,  all  or  almost  all,  without  discrimination 
— a  crowd  of  friends  and  companions,  now  grimacing 
underground.  And  the  anonymous  multitude,  those 
foul  masses  of  corpses  whose  odour  had  pursued  us 
all  through  our  fighting  from  end  to  end.  All  that, 
oh!  merely  a  prologue!  As  if  it  was  enough  that  a 
million  young  men  should  be  sacrificed.  To  death,  to 
death  with  their  elders,  the  fellows  from  thirty  to 
forty.  The  trench  fighting  instituted,  which  would  last 
how  long,  O  God !  The  sons  of  the  hostile  races,  face 
to  face  in  their  burrows,  spitting  murder  and  hatred 
at  each  other,  tracing  with  their  blood  the  baleful  line 
of  fire.  Frenzy  gaining  the  two  fronts  little  by  little, 
the  zones  of  slaughter  being  displaced  and  stretched 
out,  others  being  made.  Where  would  the  confla- 
gration end  ?  A  craze  for  butchery  sweeping  through 
the  world.  Would  there  be  an  acre  in  Europe, 
to-morrow,  which  had  not  seen  human  remains  decay- 
ing beneath  the  beaks  of  carrion  crows,  or  which  did 
not  contain  them  in  its  depths,  infecting  the  sources 
of  their  poisoned  juices? 

Ah!  when  the  awakening  came  at  last,  and  the 
diplomats,  old  vultures,  were  collected  round  the 
council-board  to  talk,  they  might  congratulate  them- 
selves as  they  audited  the  balance  sheet.  Broken  up, 
ground  and  crushed,  these  two,  three,  four  generations 
of  men  who  might  have  been  great,  and  collaborated 
in  the  common  cause.  So  many  wounded  who  would 
soon  succumb,  wan  wrecks,  and  so  many  others  who, 
like  myself,  would  only  drag  out  the  shadow  of  an 
existence.  And  all  the  rest!  The  ravaged  homes, 
the  wives  abandoned  to  the  terrors  of  their  widowhood, 


The  Awakening  517 

the  old  parents  dying  with  curses  on  their  lips,  the 
children  delivered  over  without  guidance  to  life's  buf- 
fetings,  the  surplus  girls  especially,  deprived  of  their 
natural  associates,  devoted  to  the  sorrows  of  debauch- 
ery. With  many  of  those  who  came  back  safely,  the 
mind  at  least  would  be  affected,  their  faith  in  work 
sapped,  their  brutal  instincts  let  loose,  and  their  desire 
for  immediate  enjoyment  aroused.  The  public  wealth 
destroyed,  want  bringing  revolt  in  its  train,  the 
emasculated  nations  incapable  of  recovering,  or  even 
of  governing  themselves.  The  snare  of  revolutions, 
of  frightful  social  convulsions.  What  could  one 
depend  upon  henceforth  ?  There  would  be  no  law  or 
rule  of  any  sort.  The  religions,  Art,  Science,  all  these 
would  be  humiliated  before  Force.  The  Ideal  broken 
and  trampled  underfoot.  An  infected  breath  tainting 
the  sacred  legacies  of  the  past.  The  genius  of  de- 
struction hovering  over  a  civilisation  in  ruins.  That 
was  what  War  meant ! 

A  monstrous  survival  of  primitive  errors.  How  I 
abhorred  them  all  of  a  sudden,  the  politics  and  morals 
which  revere  this  scourge  of  God. 

As  to  war  raising  the  hearts  of  individuals  and 
nations,  alas,  who  could  answer  for  it  ?  For  one  soul 
purified,  how  many  others  would  be  vilified!  And, 
above  all,  how  terrible  was  the  remedy,  a  thousand 
times  worse  than  the  complaint. 

War  might  be  necessary,  and  it  was  in  this  case,  for 
the  defence  of  our  native  land.  Then  it  might  give 
birth  to  the  most  noble  effervescence.  Then  in  its 
radiance  virtues  might  thrive  like  plants  beneath  a 
tropical  sun.  But  it  remained  no  less  the  supreme 
calamity;  the  triumph  of  the  powers  of  Death. 

Care  must  be  taken  not  to  magnify  it,  not  to  flatter 


518  Ordeal  by  Fire 

the  fluctuating  mind  of  the  nations  with  bellicose 
dreams.  We  must  needs  greet  a  like  catastrophe  with 
a  fiercely  hostile  heart,  abhor  it,  blaspheme  against  it, 
we  miserable  creatures,  who  had  but  one  life  to  live,  one 
brief  chance  of  being  happy. 


CHAPTER  V 
A  GIRL  OF   1915 

MY  sister  has  rejoined  us  at  Vichy  with  her  children. 
We  are  to  leave  together  for  the  South.  The  idea  no 
longer  holds  any  attraction  for  me,  everything  draws 
me  in  the  opposite  direction.  But  I  cannot  give 
my  reasons.  I  pretend  to  be  waiting  for  the  delivery 
of  my  order  from  the  American  firm,  not  to  want  to 
move  before  it  has  arrived.  Very  well!  The  excuse 
serves  for  a  few  days.  But  now  the  limb  is  delivered. 
Ten  times  preferable  to  the  other,  light  and  strong  at 
the  same  time.  This  knee  that  bends  is  a  marvel! 
Though  it  matters  little  enough  to  me  now,  it  is  true. 

How  am  I  to  withstand  the  family  urgency  now? 
In  vain  I  argue  that  I  am  still  weak.  They  all  persist 
in  extolling  the  advantage  to  be  derived  from  a  change 
of  air.  And  then  the  tickets  have  been  taken  and  our 
rooms  engaged  at  Cannes  in  one  of  the  only  hotels  not 
transformed  into  hospitals.  I  gain  a  week  more. 
Here  is  Christmas,  and  the  New  Year's  Day,  so  many 
All  Souls'  Days!  Oh  well,  I  shall  have  to  give  in. 

A  palace  on  the  Antibes  road ;  a  park  with  luxuriant 
palms ;  a  far-reaching  view  over  the  turquoise-coloured 
sea.  Very  few  people — a  diminished  staff;  war  prices; 
besides,  my  father  is  making  us  a  present  of  this 
holiday. 


520  Ordeal  by  Fire 

My  sister-in-law  at  once  makes  inquiries  about  less 
pretentious  quarters,  where  we  may  end  the  winter. 
Getting  wind  of  this  project,  I  hasten  to  remonstrate. 
She  is  surprised;  what's  the  matter?  Do  I  no  longer 
like  this  part?  Didn't  I  choose  it  myself?  I  admit 
that  I  have  changed  my  mind — a  convalescent's  weak 
nerves — that  I  dream  of  less  well-known  neighbour- 
hoods, Corsica  or  the  Morocco  coast. 

It  is  quite  true:  I  burn  to  escape  from  all  that 
oppresses  me  on  this  coast.  I  avoid  letting  my  eyes 
rest  upon  the  headland  of  La  Croisette.  I  can 
picture,  too  vividly,  the  bay  behind  it  with  its  silver 
slopes,  the  Cape  d'Antibes  stretching  out  into  the  sea, 
with  the  white  lighthouse  at  La  Groupe,  and,  facing 
towards  us  amid  the  tangled  mass  of  verdure,  that 
dwelling  so  often  described  to  me. 

These  associations  overwhelm  me.  Be  still,  my 
heart,  be  still!  This  is  the  sun  which  warms  her, 
these  are  the  waves  whose  murmur  lulls  her  to  sleep, 
the  air  which  quickens  her.  I  cannot  breath  here! 

My  people,  who  enjoy  being  at  Cannes,  give  way  to 
my  express  wish :  we  are  to  leave  again. 

To-morrow  will  be  our  last  day  here.  I  am  seated 
on  the  promenade.  Where  are  the  luxurious  cars  with 
their  insolent  footmen?  Where  are  the  dandies  in 
white  flannel,  the  fair  pedestrians  in  toilettes  fit  for  a 
queen?  The  patrons  of  the  Riviera,  this  year,  are 
those  poor  soldiers  in  faded  uniforms. 

I  find  myself  near  the  place  where  the  sea-gulls 
used,  formerly,  to  whirl,  catching  in  their  flight  the 
scraps  which  little  girls  threw  to  them.  They  have 
deserted  the  shore.  They  are  playing  together  in  the 
distance,  skimming  the  gleaming  surface  of  the  waves. 


A  Girl  of  1915  521 

I  am  waiting  for  Madeleine  and  my  small  nephew  and 
niece.  Here  they  come — she  with  her  long  veil.  The 
passers-by  think,  as  they  meet  her,  of  their  losses  of 
yesterday  and  to-morrow. 

"A  letter  for  you,  Michel. " 

"Thanks." 

I  take  it  nonchalantly.  Where  is  the  news,  to-day, 
with  any  power  to  stir  me? 

But  the  envelope  torn  the  blood  throbs  in  my 
temples!  I  can't  believe  .  .  . 

It  is  from  Madame  Landry ! 

She  writes^  that  she  has  just  seen  my  name  in  the 
Journal  des  Ett -angers  (so  it  still  appears?).  We  were 
expected  here.  She  and  her  grand-daughter  would  be 
delighted  if  I  would  go  to  see  them,  delighted,  too,  if 
my  family  would  accompany  me.  She  proposed  a  day, 
the  day  after  to-morrow. 

I  don't  know  where  I  am.  My  hand  tightens  on  the 
letter.  Jeannine  has  taken  care  not  to  add  a  word. 
My  heart  swells  with  bitterness.  But  why  this 
proceeding? 

I  shall  not  go !    I  cannot  go ! 

Oh,  my  sister,  the  only  friend  left  to  me,  why  did  I 
feel  a  longing  to  confide  in  someone,  at  the  sight  of 
your  sweet  melancholy?  I  began  by  joking: 

"Halloa,  an  invitation! " 

You  searchingly  fixed  your  eyes,  full  of  affection  on 
me. 

Drawing  a  quadrant  in  the  sand  with  the  end  of  my 
stick,  in  a  toneless  voice,  which  I  force  myself  to  render 
frivolous,  I  have  told  Madeleine  this  story.  But  by 
some  subtle  feeling  of  bashfulness,  I  have  not  made 
myself  out  as  ingenuous — I  should  have  blushed  for  it 


522  Ordeal  by  Fire 

— as  I  was.  I  have  told  her  that  directly  I  saw  I  had 
been  damaged  I  had  ceased  to  indulge  in  a  hope  grown 
fond.  Our  continued  correspondence  had  been  a 
consolation  prize.  Then  when  she  had  tired  even  of 
this  game  I  lost  interest  in  it  too. 

Madeleine  has  said  to  me,  in  her  calm  voice: 

"It  seems  to  me  that  nothing  is  lost. " 

I  have  protested. 

"I  shan't  go!" 

"You  must  go." 

"What's  the  use?" 

"Who  can  read  in  another's  heart? "  she  murmured. 

And  she  confides  in  me  that  on  the  day  when  Victor 
had  asked  for  her  hand  in  marriage,  her  mother  had 
sent  for  her  to  consult  her,  as  was  seemly.  And  she, 
who  loved  him — and  how  she  loved  her  young,  intrepid 
soldier!  This  union  was  her  one  wish — she  began  to 
sob,  stammering  "No,"  amid  her  tears.  They  were 
unfathomable  creatures,  certainly! 

But  I  smiled  at  my  misery,  and  at  this  senseless 
renewal  of  intercourse. 

Why  have  I  obeyed  her?  Why  have  I  got  into  this 
train  alone?  She  would  come  next  time,  she  assured 
me  prettily.  The  rear  carriage  without  a  top  races 
along,  raising  clouds  of  white  dust.  I  catch  frequent 
glimpses  of  the  radiant  stretch  of  water.  Here  is  the 
Juan  Vallauris  Gulf.  Now  we  are  skirting  the  edges 
of  the  coast,  the  pearly  foam  frolicking  almost  at  our 
feet  on  the  pale  strand. 

I  force  myself  to  think  of  nothing.  That  would  be 
best.  I  come  to  grief  over  it,  and  my  thoughts  are 
torture.  Why  am  I  going  there  ?  Out  of  cowardice  ? 
Or  else  is  it  a  remnant  of  hope?  No!  We'll  dismiss 


A  Girl  of  1915  523' 

that  idea!  Rather,  I  think,  in  order  to  prove  to 
myself  that  I  am  not  afraid  to  suffer. 

I  stiffen  myself.  I  will  be  correct  and  cold.  Cold, 
poor  wretch!  Just  now  my  tears  welled  up  at  the 
sight  of  the  sunlit  road  where  there  might  some  day 
have  gambolled  lovely  children,  born  to  us. 

I  have  got  out,  and  have  slowly  traversed  the 
deserted  village,  and  rounded  the  tall  pine-wood.  My 
footsteps  sink  into  the  earth — an  inconvenience 
shared  by  everyone.  My  jointed  leg  flexes  at  the 
difficulties  in  the  ground,  and  does  not  call  attention 
to  my  drawback.  I  just  seem  tired  by  my  walk. 

I  have  forbidden  myself  to  think,  to  procrastinate, 
or  to  hesitate,  or  I  should  not  have  got  as  far  as  this 
threshold.  Just  as  well,  since  I  am  embarked  on  this 
fantastic  adventure.  No  backing  out  of  it!  For  a 
soldier ! 

There  it  is.  I  recognise  the  gates,  overhung  with 
ivy,  from  the  description  they  gave  me.  Here  it  is! 
I  ring,  with  wonderful,  unexpected  calmness.  My 
heart  has  stopped  beating  quickly,  since  my  fate  is 
sealed. 

The  sound  of  footsteps.  Is  it  she?  No,  the  maid 
coming  to  open  the  gate  to  me.  Was  I  expected  as 
early  as  this  ? 

A  short  and  fairly  steep  pathway  brings  us  to  the 
flight  of  steps  leading  up  to  the  villa.  No  one  at  the 
windows — luckily!  As  a  matter  of  fact,  my  careless 
carriage  cloaks  my  lameness. 

I  have  been  taken  into  the  drawing-room,  and  the 
maid  has  gone  to  tell —  A  prettily  furnished  room, 
unobtrusively  luxurious,  and  smacking  of  the  old 
bourgeoisie,  of  matured  and  refined  taste.  Old 
furniture — flowers  in  modern  vases.  I  go  up  to  a 


524  Ordeal  by  Fire 

table  with  photographs  standing  on  it.  Here  is,  or, 
rather,  are  hers.  This  one  dates  back  to  two  years 
ago.  She  seems  a  child,  with  her  hair  down  her  back 
Thus  it  was  that  she  entered  upon  life. 

I  am  struck  by  a  pastel  on  the  wall — a  gracious 
portrait  of  a  young  woman.  That  resemblance — 
Her  mother,  no  doubt;  her  mother,  who  had  died 
when  she  was  twenty-four. 

A  door  opens.  It  is  Madame  Landry,  as  slim  and 
sprightly  as  ever,  in  her  dark  gown,  but  she  has  a  tired 
expression,  it  is  true.  Is  she  still  an  invalid?  She 
denies.it,  in  a  few  disconnected  sentences,  and  seems 
even  more  perturbed  than  I  am. 

Jeannine  is  just  coming  down,"  she  says. 

I  ask :  "  How  .is  she  ?     Quite  fit  ? " 

"Very." 

Then,  recovering  herself : 

"I've  been  annoyed — with  her. " 

But  here  is  Jeannine  herself. 

I  admire  my  self-control,  for  I  get  up  and  go  towards 
her.  There  is  nothing  constrained  in  my  gait;  I 
hardly  drag  my  leg.  Dazzled,  and  yet  at  the  same 
time  clear-sighted,  I  look  at  he  with  a  prejudiced  eye. 
I  do  not  think  her  as  lovely  as  she  was. 

I  have  bowed  and  pressed  her  hand ;  a  commonplace 
greeting  has  been  exchanged.  The  little  brother  has 
already  appeared,  and  is  deafening  me  with  a  crowd 
of  questions  which  I  answer  good-naturedly.  How 
easily  it  passes,  this  moment,  which  I  had  dreaded  so 
much.  We  might  be  back  at  Ballaigues :  the  tone  of 
courtesy  and  irony — and  of  indifference — recovered. 

A  strange  hour.  The  conversation  does  not  flag. 
Mention  is  made  of  my  family,  whose  regrets  I  am 
supposed  to  have  brought.  Then  I  plunge  into  praise 


A  Girl  of  1915  525 

of  this  heaven-blest  country  where  they  pass  each 
winter.  The  grandmother  interrupts  me.  This  season 
is  the  last  they  will  spend  here. 

"Really?" 

Jeannine  changes  the  subject. 

The  conversation,  having  wavered,  naturally  returns 
to  the  War.  When  will  it  end  ?  In  the  spring  ?  Yes, 
after  the  Big  Push!  We  return  to  the  first  weeks. 
They  ply  me  with  questions.  What  have  I  seen  ?  At 
first,  I  decline  to  be  drawn  out.  They  insist — I  let 
myself  go.  They  listen,  and  ask  for  details.  Here  is 
the  perfect  audience,  interested  and  impassioned. 
Even  technical  details  do  not  repel  them,  this  sister 
and  this  daughter  of  soldiers,  who  have  been  staking 
out  the  maps  with  little  flags;  they,  too. 

I  question  them  in  my  turn.  It  pleased  me  to  hear 
them  describing  Paris'  proud  bearing  at  the  time  of  our 
reverses.  They  have  a  right  to  speak  of  it,  as  they 
live  there.  When  I  mention  our  meeting  with  the 
two  young  Red  Cross  members  at  Rosny 

"  It  might  have  been  me, "  says  Jeannine.  "  I  was 
at  St.  Denis  that  morning." 

Heavens!  I  do  not  know  what  I  had  feared  or 
desired.  I  become  expansive.  My  mind  is  set  at 
ease.  What,  is  that  Jeannine,  who  is  listening  to  me, 
leaning  her  chin  in  her  hand  ?  Is  it  her  pure,  pensive 
gaze  which  mine  meets  without  embarrassment? 

And  the  grandmother  is  standing  up.  In  the  most 
natural  tone  in  the  world,  she  asks  her  grand-daughter 
to  show  me  round  the  garden. 

Jeannine  hesitates,  and  looks  at  her.  I  wonder,  at 
this  moment,  if  Madame  Landry  has  ever  heard  of 
our  letters,  if  she  sees  the  tragic  undercurrents  to  this 
frivolous  scene  which  is  being  enacted. 


526  Ordeal  by  Fire 

Jeannine  is  still  considering.  Is  she  afraid  that 
the  walk  may  tire  me?  I  get  up,  and  reassure  her  in 
advance.  She  blushes.  The  grandmother  apologises 
for  not  accompanying  us — the  doctor  forbids  it. 

So  I  call  little  Andre* — I  only  forestall  Jeannine — 
that  there  may  be  a  third  in  the  party. 

The  child  jumps  down  the  steps.  I  walk  down 
gingerly,  holding  on  to  the  rail;  Jeannine,  with  her 
usual  tact,  more  slowly  still. 

This  garden  is  more  like  a  park.  Trees  of  twenty 
species  meet  here,  mingled  in  a  medley,  with  the 
luxuriance  of  primeval  forests — palms,  maples,  and 
olives;  and  I  am  made  to  guess  the  name  of  magnolias 
and  mastic  trees.  I  admire  the  tangles  of  lichens  and 
aloes  and  the  "mimosa  alley,"  running  between  two 
hedges  of  gold. 

How  sad  and  exquisitely  sweet  this  loitering  is.  Our 
futile  topics  lend  it  a  melancholy  charm.  I  should 
like  to  be  able  to  detain  the  fleeting  moments.  We  are 
going  up  to  the  house  again.  I  am  going  away — and 
I  shall  never  come  back. 

"I  don't  like  our  garden  any  more,"  Jeannine 
suddenly  declared.  "I've  not  been  down  into  it 
three  times  since  we  got  there. " 

"Why  not?" 

"It  doesn't  belong  to  us  now.     The  villa  is  sold." 

"An  accomplished  fact?" 

"Yes,  with  everything  belonging  to  it.  To  some 
Americans,  from  the  first  of  February. " 

This  astonishes  me : 

"As  soon  as  that?" 

"We  had  to." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
winter  then?" 


A  Girl  of  1915  527 

"We  shall  have  to  go  back  to  Paris." 

Andre  seems  bored  by  our  pace,  which  is  not  lively 
enough  for  him.  He  outstrips  us,  comes  back  to  fetch 
us,  and  covers  twice  the  distance  we  do. 

"I  am  sure  he's  dying  to  show  me  his  playground. " 

"Probably,"  Jeannine  acquiesced. 

We  reach  a  lawn.  Here  is  a  piece  of  ground  which 
has  been  dug  up,  and  a  chalked  line. 

"How  far  can  you  jump  now,  Andre? " 

"  More  than  four  yards, "  he  exclaims. 

He  leaves  his  straw  hat  in  our  care,  goes  off  to  get 
room,  takes  a  run,  and  jumps;  and  immediately  turns 
round,  triumphant,  the  four  yards  cleared. 

' '  Bravo !     You  are  getting  on. " 

"  Oh,  it'll  be  a  long  time  before  I  can  jump  like  you. " 

He  stops  short,  biting  his  lip.  Too  late.  We  all 
three  redden,  and  recall  that  summer's  day  when,  in 
compliance  with  a  request  from  Jeannine,  I  had  taken 
off  my  coat,  and  jumped  nearly  five  yards  on  the  sand. 
To-day  ?  Alas,  to-day ! 

Jeannine  points  out  the  croquet  lawn  to  me,  in 
passing. 

"And  what  about  tennis?" 

"We've  given  up  playing." 

I  begin  to  feel  slightly  tired.  Jeannine,  who  sus- 
pects it,  slackens  her  speed  again,  gracefully  and 
unaffectedly.  But  it  is  heart-breaking  for  me — I  who 
have  such  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  rhythm  of  her 
usual  pace.  And  had  I  not  seen  her  at  Ballaigues, 
challenging  her  "brother  to  race  with  her,  and  beating 
him  with  ease? 

The  round  is  finished.  We  are  going  in.  Andre" 
proposes : 

"  Suppose  we  take  Mr.  Dreher  to  the  Observatory? " 


0-' 


Ordeal  by  Fire 


"Just  what  I  meant  to  do, "  she  says.  "  We'll  have 
a  rest — I'm  worn  out. " 

Is  she  putting  it  on,  to  make  me  forget  my  fatigue, 
or  is  she  really  tired  out?  Her  rosy  colour  has  cer- 
tainly paled  very  suddenly.  Her  pure  face  is  troubled, 
like  limpid  water  which  has  been  agitated. 

Mounting  some  steps,  we  gain  a  shady  retreat, 
bordering  on  and  overlooking  the  road.  A  parasol, 
three  chairs,  a  seat,  an  iron  railing. 

Jeannine  has  dropped  into  a  chair.  I  have  seated 
myself  beside  her.  Our  eyes  roam  over  the  stretch  of 
country  in  front  of  us. 

The  short  January  afternoon  is  already  drawing  to  a 
close.  The  sun  is  sinking  behind  the  islands,  which 
look  like  deep-sea  monsters,  with  purple  scales.  The 
West  is  bathed  in  a  luminous  pallor,  even  the  tracery  of 
the  Este*rel  is  hardly  discernible  out  yonder. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  orange  bay,  there  lie  white 
houses  with  red  roofs  and  blazing  windows,  flaming  as 
if  the  darkness  were  not  near  at  hand.  And  that  is 
the  way  of  my  destiny.  The  last  moment  of  radiance, 
on  the  threshold  of  the  eternal  night! 

Jeannine  is  still  silent.  Andre  chatters,  and  I  am 
glad  of  it,  and  keep  him  up  to  it.  I  profess  an  interest 
in  the  hairy  cactus  creeping  along  the  wall.  I  ask 
him  the  names  of  certain  plants,  and  pretend  to  get 
muddled  in  order  to  make  him  laugh. 

Is  it  I  who  am  talking  and  joking,  I,  who  smile? 
There  is  another  desperate  I,  coiled  up  at  the  centre  of 
my  being. 

A  tinkle.  The  door-bell.  Andre  peeps  between  the 
branches. 

"I  bet  it's  Maurice!" 

I  mechanically  ask:  ""Who's  Maurice?" •••-.-• 


A  Girl  of  1915  529 

"A  little  neighbour, "  Jeannine  replies. 

"Yes,  that's  him  all  right. " 

The  child  bounds  down  the  steps  and  leaves  us  alone. 
How  awkward!  Just  the  very  thing  which  should 
have  been  avoided.  I  try  to  fill  up  the  silence  with  a 
commonplace  remark — Good  God!  This  moment  of 
tete-a-tete,  for  which  my  whole  being  longed  in  despera- 
tion in  the  hours  of  Death ! 

Andrews  voice  makes  itself  heard.  He  comes  run- 
ning back.  ; 

"I  say,  Jeannine,  he  wants  to  know  if  I  may  go  and 
play  with  him." 

I  hardly  listen  to  the  reply.  Turning  away,  I 
contemplate  the  violet  crest  of  the  Este'rel,  which 
has  just  revealed  itself  in  the  gloaming  so  boldly  that  it 
might  be  taken  for  the  outline  of  a  cloud. 

One  would  almost  say  that  Jeannine  was  hesitating. 
I  listen,  in  spite  of  myself,  for  the  words  that  will  fall 
from  her  lips — I  know  she  will  recall  her  brother.  The 
child  is  too  useful  here. 

But,  no;  she  says  nothing.  And  now  the  little 
fellow  begins  again: 

"May  I,  Jeannine?     May  I?" 

That  colourless  voice,  changed  and  dejected. 

"Very  well,  run  along, "  Jeannine  has  said. 

The  boy  makes  her  repeat  it : 

"I  may  go?" 

"Yes— yes." 

His  footsteps  fly  along  the  gravel. 

A  deep  chord  vibrates  within  me.  .•••;.•'•. 

A  trifling  incident,  and  yet — of  infinite.. import. 
Jeannine  sending  her  brother  away.  .  •Jeannine  in 
favour  of  our  being  alone  together. 

34 


53°  Ordeal  by  Fire 

The  sea  glitters  in  the  west.  Elsewhere  it  borrows 
vermilion  and  wine-coloured  reflections  from  the 
conflict  of  sun  and  shade. 

I  consider  Jeannine,  her  heaving  bosom,  her  quiver- 
ing eyelashes — and  her  hand,  her  adorable  child's 
hand,  lying  on  the  rail,  hypnotises  me. 

I  am  dreaming — I  no  longer  recognise  myself;  with 
my  leg  stretched  out  and  relaxed,  I  dream  that  I  am 
like  others — a  man,  young  and  impassioned;  and  this 
girl,  pale  and  tender,  the  promised  creature. 

Then  I  say : 

"Our  letters — were  delightful." 

Jeannine  does  not  answer,  but  her  hand  contracts 
convulsively.  I  dare  everything.  I  dare  to  stretch 
out  towards  it  my  man's  hand,  big  and  strong.  I  seize 
it,  limp  and  warm. 

"Do  you  remember  Le  Suchet?  That  sunrise  on 
the  Alps. " 

She  turns  round  and  looks  into  my  eyes.  The  dear, 
tormented  face — I  would  give  the  world  to  banish 
even  the  shadow  of  a  grief  from  it. 

"Michel " 

She  breaks  off. 

"  Michel,  have  you  something  to  say  to  me? " 

Her  gaze  puts  me  to  confusion.  I  bend  down  and 
kiss  her  fingers;  then,  I  find  nothing  to  say  to  her, 
but  this: 

"Shake  hands,  Jeannine." 

A  feverish  pressure,  in  which  our  souls,  too,  hold 
each  other  first. 

"Are  we  agreed?" 

She  answers :  "Yes. " 

The  tone  of  her  voice  is  no  longer  veiled.  I  gaze 
on  her.  The  suffering  has  suddenly  vanished  from  her 


A  Girl  of  1915  531 

eyes.  All  the  brilliance  has  returned  to  her  complexion, 
just  as  it  has  to  her  glance.  Again,  the  expression 
of  which  I  had  kept  such  a  delightful  recollection, 
Youth  smiling  at  Happiness. 

Am  I  not  assisting  at  a  like  transformation  in  my- 
self? I,  too,  with  eyes  re-opened,  and  heart  illuminated 
and  revived.  All  hail  to  the  life  of  light. 

"But,  Jeannine, "  I  ask  her,  at  once,  the  past 
anguish  throttling  me  again,  "why  have  you  made  me 
suffer  so  much?" 

"It  was  you,"  she  murmurs.  "Why  did  you  stop 
writing  to  me?" 

"Your  last  letter  was  so  cold.  You  never  came — 
there." 

"I  understood  that  you  would  rather  we  did  not  see 
you  till  you  were — quite  cured. " 

"An  argument  which  I  cannot  refute.  It's  true — 
I  did  prefer  that. " 

"And  then — "  She  lowers  her  voice.  "There 
was  that  other  matter " 

"What  matter?" 

"Which  I  mentioned  to  you." 

I  do  not  understand.  She  continues  in  a  more 
assured  tone : 

"Well,  we're  ruined.  We  must  sell  everything. 
We  don't  even  know  if  that  will  be  enough.  Grand- 
mother has  had  no  luck.  All  her  interests  are  in 
the  North.  She  is  most  dreadfully  unhappy  about 
it." 

So  this  was  the  reason.  I  am  astounded,  and 
stirred  to  the  depths  of  my  being.  I  hardly  dare 
believe — I  smile : 

' '  Really !     There  really  was  nothing  but  that  ? ' ' 

"I  got  it  into  my  head, "  she  says.     "I  wanted  to 


532  Ordeal  by  Fire 

put  you  to  the  proof.  You  never  answered  me  on 
that  point. " 

Nothing  but  this  scruple.  It  was  she  who  thought 
she  had  lost  value ! 

"All  the  same, "  she  continues,  sighing  as  if  she  had 
been  pulled  out  of  a  fathomless  abyss,  "if  Grand- 
mother had  not  been  determined — that  there  should 
be  an  explanation " 

I  cannot  prevent  myself  saying: 

"I  dreaded  your  grandmother." 

"Why?" 

"I  was  so  much  afraid  she  might  put  you  off. " 

"But  why?"  Jeannine  repeats. 

Oh,  that  ingenuous  tone.  Oh,  that  clear  gaze  and 
pure  forehead,  behind  which  no  mental  reservations 
could  revolve. 

Her  fresh  voice  in  my  ear  is  like  a  bell  ringing  in  the 
days  of  joy.  I  could  weep — I  could  go  down  upon  my 
knees. 

"You  see,"  she  says,  gravely,  "those  of  you  who 
come  back  like  this,  you  have  so  great  a  right  to 
choose." 


THE   END 


Jl  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


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For  a  year  and  a  half,  until  he  fell 
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American  soldier  took  part  in  more 
actual  fighting  and  real  warfare  than 
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they  are  true. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


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The  story  of  an  American  woman,  the  wife 
of  a  Polish  noble,  caught  in  her  home  by  the 
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kingdom  of  Poland. 

A  straightforward  narrative,  terribly  real,  of 
her  experiences  in  the  heart  of  the  eastern 
war-zone,  of  her  struggle  with  the  extreme 
conditions,  of  her  Red  Gross  work,  of  her 
fight  for  the  lives  of  her  children  and  herself 
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release  and  journey  through  Germany  and 
Holland  to  this  country.  How  truly  she  was 
in  line  of  the  German  advance  may  be  ap- 
preciated from  the  fact  that  Field  Marshal 
von  Hindenburg  for  some  days  made  his 
headquarters  under  her  roof. 


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"'Bill,*  'Bert,'  and  'Alf '  have  turned 
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written  a  book — a  rollicking  and  yet 
serious  book — about  himself  and  them, 
describing  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  his 
first  six  months  in  the  trenches.  His 
writing  is  like  his  drawing.  It  suggests 
a  masculine,  reckless,  devil-may-care 
character  and  a  workmanlike  soldier. 
Throughout  the  book  he  is  as  cheerful 
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those  who,  like  the  heroine,  have  felt 
the  heart  wrench,  will  not  soon  return 
to  the  superficial  and  thoughtless  ways 
of  yesterday.  The  book  is  a  fine, 
patriotic  embodiment  of  a  nation's 
spirit,  as  evinced  by  the  people  at  home, 
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G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

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